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OF  THL 

U  N  1  VERS  ITY 

or    ILLINOIS 

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WORKS    BY    WILKIE    COLLINS. 

Crown  8vo.  cloth  extra,  3^.  (>d.  each  ;  po=.t  8vo.  illustrated  boards,  is.  each. 

Antonina. 

The  Law  and  the  Lady. 

Basil. 

Man  and  Wife. 

The  Black  Robe. 

Miss  or  Mrs. .? 

The  Dead  Secret. 

The  Moonstone. 

The  Fallen  Leaves. 

My  Miscellanies. 

The  Frozen  Deep. 

The  New  Magdalen. 

The  Haunted  Hotel. 

Poor  Miss  Finch. 

Hide  and  Seek. 

The  Queen  of  Hearts. 

Jezebel's  Daughter. 

The  Two  Destinies. 

AND 

The  Woman  in  White. 

CH.ATTO   ><i   WIXDUS.    PICCADII.I.V,  \V. 

HEART   AND    SCIENCE 


A    STORY  OF   THE  PRESENT   TIME 


BY 


WILKIE    COLLINS 


IN     THREE    VOLUMES 
VOL.   I. 

CHATTO    &   WINDUS,    PICCADILLY 
1883 


[  The  iif:ht  0/  trattslation  is  rcserveif.  /in-i  is  ret;iitcreii  in  foreign  countries'] 


LONDON  :     PRINTED     BY 

SPOTTISWOODE    AND     CO.,     NEW-STREET     SQUARB 

AND     PARLIAMENT    STREET 


r^3 


TO 

SAEONY 

(OP  NEW  YORK) 

ARTIST,    PHOTOGRAPHER, 

AND 

GOOD    FRIEND. 


^b 


PEEFACE. 
I. 

TO  READERS  IN  GENERAL. 

You  are  the  children  of  Old  Mother  England, 
on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic  ;  you  form  the 
majority  of  buyers  and  borrowers  of  novels ; 
and  you  judge  of  works  of  fiction  by  certain 
inbred  preferences,  which  but  slightly  influence 
the  other  great  public  of  readers  on  the  conti- 
nent of  Europe. 

The  two  qualities  in  fiction  which  hold  the 
highest  rank  in  yom*  estimation  are  :  Character 
and  Humour.  Incident  and  dramatic  situation 
only  occupy  the  second  place  in  your  favour. 
A  novel  that  tells  no  story,  or  that  blunders 


viii  PREFACE, 

perpetually  in  trying  to  tell  a  story — a  novel 
so  entirely  devoid  of  all  sense  of  the  dramatic 
side  of  human  life,  that  not  even  a  theatrical 
thief  can  find  anything  in  it  to  steal — will 
nevertheless  be  a  work  that  wins  (and  keeps) 
your  admiration,  if  it  has  humour  which  dwells 
on  your  memory,  and  characters  which  enlarge 
the  circle  of  your  friends. 

I  have  myself  always  tried  to  combine  the 
difierent  merits  of  a  good  novel,  in  one  and  the 
same  work ;  and  I  have  never  succeeded  in 
keeping  an  equal  balance.  In  the  present 
story  you  will  find  the  scales  inclining,  on  the 
whole,  in  favour  of  character  and  humoiu*. 
This  has  not  happened  accidentally. 

Advancing  years,  and  health  that  stands 
sadly  in  need  of  improvement,  warn  me — if  I 
am  to  vary  my  way  of  work — that  I  may  have 
little  time  to  lose.  Without  waiting  for  future 
opportunities,  I  have  kept  your  standard  of 
merit   more    constantly   before    my   mind,   in 


PREFACE.  ix 

writing  this  book,  than  on  some  former  occa- 
sions. 

Still  persisting  in  telling  you  a  story — still 
refusing  to  get  up  in  the  pulpit  and  preach,  or 
to  invade  the  platform  and  lecture,  or  to  take 
you  by  the  buttonhole  in  confidence  and  make 
fun  of  my  Art — it  has  been  my  chief  effort  to 
draw  the  characters  with  a  vigour  and  breadth 
of  treatment,  derived  fi'om  the  nearest  and 
truest  view  that  I  could  get  of  the  one  model, 
Nature.  Whether  I  shall  at  once  succeed  in 
adding  to  the  circle  of  your  friends  in  the 
world  of  fiction — or  whether  you  will  hurry 
through  the  narrative,  and  only  discover  on  a 
later  reading  that  it  is  the  characters  which 
have  interested  you  in  the  story — remains  to  be 
seen.  Either  way,  your  sympathy  will  find  me 
grateful ;  for,  either  way,  my  motive  has  been 
to  please  you. 

During  its  periodical  publication  corre- 
spondents, noting  certain  passages  in  '  Heart  and 


X  PREFACE. 

Science,'  inquired  how  I  came  to  think  of  writ- 
ing this  book.  The  question  may  be  readily- 
answered  in  better  words  than  mine.  My  book 
has  been  written  in  harmony  with  opinions 
which  have  an  indisputable  claim  to  respect. 
Let  them  speak  for  themselves. 

Shakespeare's  Opinio. v. — '  It*  was  always 
yet  the  trick  of  our  English  nation,  if  they  have 
a  good  thing,  to  make  it  too  common.'  {King 
Henry  TV.,  Part  II.) 

Walter  Scott's  Opinion. — '  I  am  no  great 
believer  in  the  extreme  degree  of  improve- 
ment to  be  derived  from  the  advancement  of 
Science ;  for  every  study  of  that  nature  tends, 
when  pushed  to  a  certain  extent,  to  harden  the 
heart.'     (Letter  to  Miss  Edgeicorth.) 

Faraday's  Opinion. — '  The  education  of  the 
judgment  has  for  its  first  and  its  last  step — 
Humility.'  [Lecture  on  Mental  Education.,  at 
the  Royal  Institution.) 


PREFACE.  xi 

Having  given  my  reasons  for  writing  the 
book,  let  me  conclude  by  telling  you  what  I 
have  kept  out  of  the  book. 

It  encourages  me  to  think  that  we  have 
many  sympathies  in  common  ;  and  among  them, 
that  most  of  us  have  taken  to  our  hearts 
domestic  pets.  Writing. under  this  conviction, 
I  have  not  forgotten  my  responsibility  towards 
you,  and  towards  my  Art,  in  pleading  the  cause 
of  the  harmless  and  affectionate  beings  of  God's 
creation.  From  first  to  last,  you  are  purposely 
left  in  ignorance  of  the  hideous  secrets  of  Vivi- 
section, The  outside  of  the  laboratory  is  a 
necessary  object  in  my  landscape — but  I  never 
once  open  the  door  and  invite  you  to  look  in. 
I  trace,  in  one  of  my  characters,  the  result  of 
the  habitual  practice  of  cruelty  (no  matter 
under  what  pretence)  in  fatally  deteriorating 
the  nature  of  man — and  I  leave  the  picture  to 
speak  for  itself  My  own  personal  feeling  lias 
throughout  been  held  in    check.      Thankfully 


xii  PREFACE. 

accepting  the  assistance  rendered  to  me  by  Miss 
Frances  Power  Cobbe,  by  Mrs.  H.  M.  Gordon, 
and  by  Siu-geon-General  Gordon,  C.B.,  I  have 
borne  in  mind  (as  they  have  borne  in  mind)  the 
value  of  temperate  advocacy  to  a  good  cause. 

With  this,  your  servant  withdraws,  and 
leaves  you  to  the  story. 

II. 

TO  READERS  IN  PARTICULAR. 

If  you  are  numbered  among  those  good 
friends  of  ours,  who  are  especially  capable  of 
understanding  us  and  sympathising  with  us,  be 
pleased  to  accept  the  expression  of  our  grati- 
tude, and  to  pass  over  the  lines  that  follow. 

But  if  you  open  our  books  with  a  mind 
soured  by  distrust ;  if  you  habitually  anticipate 
inexcusable  ignorance  where  the  course  of  the 
story  happens  to  turn  on  matters  of  fact ;  it  is 
you,  Sir  or  Madam,  whom  I  now  want.  Not 
to  dispute  with  you — far  from  it !     I  own  with 


PREFACE,  xiii 

sorrow  that  your  severity  does  occasionally 
encounter  us  on  assailable  ground.  But  there 
are  exceptions,  even  to  the  stiffest  rules.  Some 
of  us  are  not  guilty  of  wilful  carelessness :  some 
of  us  apply  to  competent  authority,  when  we 
write  on  subjects  beyond  the  range  of  our  own 
experience.  Having  thus  far  ventured  to  speak 
for  my  colleagues,  you  will  conclude  that  I  am 
paving  the  way  for  speaking  next  of  myself. 
As  our  cousins  in  the  United  States  say — that 
is  so. 

In  the  following  pages,  there  are  allusions  to 
medical  practice  at  the  bedside  ;  leading  in  due 
course  to  physiological  questions  which  connect 
themselves  with  the  main  interest  of  the  novel. 
In  traversing  this  dehcate  ground,  you  have 
not  been  forgotten.  Before  the  manuscript 
went  to  the  printer,  it  was  submitted  for 
correction  to  an  eminent  London  surgeon, 
whose  experience  extends  over  a  period  of  forty 
years. 


xiv  PREFACE. 

Again :  a  supposed  discovery  in  connection 
with  brain  disease,  which  occupies  a  place  of 
importance,  is  not  (as  you  may  suspect)  the 
fantastic  product  of  the  author's  imagination. 
Finding  his  materials  everywhere,  he  has  even 
contrived  to  make  use  of  Professor  Ferrier — 
writing  on  the  '  Localisation  of  Cerebral 
Disease,'  and  closing  a  confession  of  the  present 
result  of  post-mortem  examination  of  brains  in 
these  words  :  '  We  cannot  even  be  sure, 
whether  many  of  the  changes  discovered  are 
the  cause  or  the  result  of  the  Disease,  or 
whether  the  two  are  the  conjoint  results  of  a 
common  cause.'  Plenty  of  elbow  room  here 
for  the  spirit  of  discovery. 

On  becoming  acquainted  with  'Mrs.  Gallilee,' 
you  will  find  her  talking — and  you  will  some- 
times even  find  the  author  talking — of  scientific 
subjects  in  general.  You  will  naturally  con- 
clude that  it  is  '  all  gross  caricature.'  No  ;  it  is 
all  promiscuous  reading.     Let  me  spare  you  a 


PREFACE.  XV 

long  list  of  books  consulted,  and  of  newspapers 
and  magazines  mutilated  for  *  cuttings  ' — and 
appeal  to  examples  once  more,  and  for  the 
last  time. 

When  '  Mrs.  Gallilee '  wonders  whether 
'  Carmina  has  ever  heard  of  the  Diathermancy 
of  Ebonite,'  she  is  thinking  of  proceedings  at  a 
conversazione  in  honour  of  Professor  Helmholtz 
(reported  in  the  'Times'  of  April  12,  1881), 
at  which  '  radiant  energy '  was  indeed  converted 
into  '  sonorous  vibrations.'  Again :  when 
she  contemplates  taking  part  in  a  discussion 
on  Matter,  she  has  been  slily  looking  into 
Chambers's  Encyclopaedia,  and  has  there  dis- 
covered the  interesting  conditions  on  which  she 
can  *  dispense  with  the  idea  of  atoms.'  Briefly, 
not  a  word  of  ray  own  invention  occurs,  when 
Mrs.  Gallilee  turns  the  learned  side  of  her 
character  to  your  worships'  view. 

I  have  now  only  to  add  tliat  the  story  has 
been  subjected  to  careful  revision,  and  I  hope 


xvi  PREFACE. 

to  consequent  improvement,  in  its  present  form 
of  publication.  Past  experience  has  shown  me 
that  you  have  a  sharp  eye  for  slips  of  the  pen, 
and  that  you  thoroughly  enjoy  convicting  a 
novelist,  by  post,  of  having  made  a  mistake. 
Whatever  pains  I  may  have  taken  to  disappoint 
you,  it  is  quite  likely  that  we  may  be  again 
indebted  to  each  other  on  this  occasion.  So, 
to  our  infinite  relief  on  either  side,  we  part 
friends  after  all. 

W.  C. 

London:    April  1883. 


HEART    AND    SCIENCE. 

CHAPTER  I. 

The  weary  old  nineteenth  century  had  advanced 
into  the  last  twenty  years  of  its  life. 

Towards  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  Ovid 
Vere  (of  the  Eoyal  College  of  Surgeons)  stood 
at  the  window  of  his  consulting- room  in  Lon- 
don, looking  out  at  the  summer  sunshine,  and 
the  quiet  dusty  street. 

He  had  received  a  warning,  familiar  to  the 
busy  men  of  our  time — the  warning  from  over- 
wrought Nature,  which  counsels  rest  after  ex- 
cessive work.  With  a  prosperous  career  before 
him,  he  had  been  compelled  (at  only  thirty-one 

-   VOL.  I.  B 


2  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

years  of  age)  to  ask  a  colleague  to  take  charge 
of  his  practice,  and  to  give  the  brain  which  he 
had  cruelly  wearied  a  rest  of  some  months  to 
come.  On  the  next  day  he  had  arranged  to 
embark  for  the  Mediterranean  in  a  friend's 
yacht. 

An  active  man,  devoted  heart  and  soul  to 
his  profession,  is  not  a  man  who  can  learn  the 
happy  knack  of  being  idle  at  a  moment's 
notice.  Ovid  found  the  mere  act  of  looking 
out  of  window,  and  wondering  what  he  should 
do  next,  more  than  he  had  patience  to 
endure. 

He  turned  to  his  study  table.  If  he  had 
possessed  a  wife  to  look  after  him,  he  would 
have  been  reminded  that  he  and  his  study  table 
had  nothing  in  common,  under  present  cir- 
cumstances. Being  deprived  of  conjugal  super- 
intendence, he  broke  through  his  own  rules. 
His  restless  hand  unlocked  a  drawer,  and  took 
out  a  manuscript  work  on  medicine  of  his  own 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  3 

writing.     '  Surely,'  lie  thought,  '  I  may  finish 
a  chapter,  before  I  go  to  sea  to-morrow  ?  ' 

His  head,  steady  enough  while  he  was  only 
looking  out  of  window,  began  to  swim  before 
he  had  got  to  tlie  bottom  of  a  page.  The  last 
sentences  of  the  unfinished  chapter  alluded  to 
a  matter  of  fact  which  he  had  not  yet  verified. 
In  emergencies  of  any  sort,  he  was  a  patient 
man  and  a  man  of  resource.  The  necessary 
verification  could  be  accomplished  by  a  visit  to 
the  College  of  Surgeons,  situated  in  the  great 
square  called  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  Here  was  a 
motive  for  a  walk — with  an  occupation  at  the 
end  of  it,  which  only  involved  a  question  to  a 
Curator,  and  an  examination  of  a  Specimen 
He  locked  up  his  manuscript,  and  set  forth  for 
Lincoln's  Inn  Fields. 


b2 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE, 


CHAPTER  II. 

When  two  friends  happen  to  meet  in  the 
street,  do  they  ever  look  back  along  the  pro- 
cession of  small  circumstances  which  has  led 
them  both,  from  the  starting-point  of  their  own 
houses,  to  the  same  spot,  at  the  same  time  ? 
Not  one  man  in  ten  thousand  has  probably 
ever  thought  of  making  such  a  fantastic  in- 
quiry as  this.  And  consequently  not  one  man 
in  ten  thousand,  living  in  the  midst  of  reahty, 
has  discovered  that  he  is  also  living  in  the 
midst  of  romance. 

From  the  moment  when  tlie  young  surgeon 
closed  the  door  of  his  house,  he  was  walking 
blindfold  on  his  way  to  a  patient  in  the  future 
who  was  personally  still  a  stranger  to  him.    He 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  % 

never  reached  the  College  of  Surgeons.  He 
never  embarked  on  his  friend's  yacht. 

What  were  the  obstacles  which  turned  him 
aside  from  the  course  that  he  had  in  view? 
Nothing  but  a  series  of  trivial  circumstances, 
occurring  in  the  experience  of  a  man  who  goes 
out  for  a  walk. 

He  had  only  reached  the  next  street,  when 
the  first  of  the  circumstances  presented  itself  in 
the  shape  of  a  friend's  carriage,  which  drew  up 
at  his  side.  A  bnght  benevolent  face,  encircled 
by  bushy  white  whiskers,  looked  out  of  the 
window,  and  a  hearty  voice  asked  him  if  he 
had  completed  his  arrangements  for  a  long 
holiday.  Having  replied  to  this,  Ovid  had  a 
question  to  put,  on  his  side. 

*  How  is  our  patient.  Sir  Kichard  .^ ' 
'  Out  of  danger.' 

*  And  what  do  the  other  doctors  say  now  ?  * 
Sir  Eichard  laughed  :    '  They  say  it's  my 

luck.' 


6  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

'  Not  conviuced  yet  ?  ' 

'  Not  in  the  least.  Who  has  ever  succeeded 
in  convincing  fools  ?  Let's  try  another  subject. 
Is  your  mother  reconciled  to  your  new  plans  ? ,' 

'  I  can  hardly  tell  you.  My  mother  is  in  a 
state  of  indescribable  agitation.  Her  brother's 
Will  has  been  found  in  Italy.  And  his 
daughter  may  arrive  in  England  at  a  moment's 
notice.' 

'  Unmarried  ? '  Sir  Eichard  asked  slyly. 

*  I  don't  know.' 

'  Any  money  ? ' 

Ovid  smiled — not  cheerfully.  'Do  you 
think  my  poor  mother  would  be  in  a  state  of 
indescribable  agitation  if  there  was  not  money  ?  ' 

Sir  Eichard  was  one  of  those  obsolete 
elderly  persons  who  quote  Shakspeare.  '  Ah, 
well,'  he  said,  '  your  mother  is  like  Kent  in 
King  Lear — she's  too  old  to  learn.  Is  she  as 
fond  as  ever  of  lace  ?  and  as  keen  as  ever  after 
a  bai'gain  ? '     He  handed  a  card  out  of  the 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  y 

carriage  window.  '  I  have  just  seen  an  old 
patient  of  mine/  he  resumed,  '  in  whom  I  feel 
a  friendly  interest.  She  is  retiring  from  busi- 
ness by  my  advice  ;  and  she  asks  me,  of  all 
the  people  in  the  world,  to  help  her  in  getting 
rid  of  some  wonderful  '  remnants,'  at  '  an 
alarming  sacrifice ! '  My  kind  regards  to 
your  mother — and  there's  a  chance  for  her. 
One  last  word,  Ovid.  Don't  be  in  too  great  a 
hurry  to  return  to  work ;  you  have  plenty  of 
spare  time  before  you.  Look  at  my  wise  dog 
here,  on  the  front  seat,  and  learn  from  him  to 
be  idle  and  happy.' 

The  great  physician  had  another  com- 
panion, besides  his  dog.  A  friend,  bound  his 
way,  had  accepted  a  seat  in  the  carriage. 
*  Who  is  that  handsome  young  man  ?  '  the 
friend  asked  as  they  drove  away. 

'  He  is  the  only  son  of  a  relative  of  mine, 
dead  many  years  since,'  Sir  Eichard  replied. 
'  Don't  forget  that  you  have  seen  him.' 


8  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

'  May  I  ask  why  ? ' 

'  He  has  not  yet  reached  the  j^rime  of  hfe ; 
and  he  is  on  the  way — already  far  on  the  way 
— to  be  one  of  the  foremost  men  of  his  time. 
With  a  private  fortune,  he  has  worked  as  few 
surgeons  work  who  have  their  bread  to  get  by 
their  profession.  The  money  comes  from  his 
late  father.  His  mother  has  married  again. 
The  second  husband  is  a  lazy,  harmless  old 
fellow,  named  Gallilee  ;  possessed  of  one  small 
attraction — fifty  thousand  pounds,  grubbed  up 
in  trade.  There  are  two  little  daughters,  by 
the  second  marriage.  With  such  a  stepfather 
as  I  have  described,  and,  between  ourselves, 
with  a  mother  who  has  rather  more  than  her 
-fair  share  of  the  jealous,  envious,  and  money- 
loving  propensities  of  humanity,  my  friend 
Ovid  is  not  diverted  by  family  influences  from 
the  close  pursuit  of  his  profession.  You  Avill 
tell  me,  he  may  marry.  Well !  if  he  gets  a 
guutl  wile   bhu  will   be  a  eiicumstauce   in  his 


HEART  AND   SCIENCE.  9 

favour.  But,  so  far  as  I  know,  lie  is  not  that 
sort  of  man.  Cooler,  a  deal  cooler,  with 
women  than  I  am — though  I  am  old  enough 
to  be  his  father.  Let  us  get  back  to  his  pro- 
fessional prospects.  You  heard  him  ask  me 
about  a  patient  ?  ' 

*Yes.' 

'  Very  good.  Death  was  knocking  hard  at 
that  patient's  door,  when  I  called  Ovid  into 
consultation  with  myself  and  with  two  other 
doctors  who  differed  with  me.  It  was  one  of 
the  very  rare  cases  in  which  the  old  practice  of 
bleeding  was,  to  my  mind,  the  only  treatment 
to  pursue.  I  never  told  him  that  this  was  the 
point  in  dispute  between  me  and  the  other 
men — and  they  said  nothing,  on  their  side,  at 
my  express  request.  He  took  his  time  to 
examine  and  think  ;  and  he  saw  the  chance 
of  saving  the  patient  by  venturing  on  the  use  of 
the  lancet  as  plainly  as  I  did — with  my  forty 
years'  experience  to  teach  me  ?     A  young  man 


lo  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

with  that  capacity  for  discovering  the  remote 
cause  of  disease,  and  with  that  superiority  to 
the  trammels  of  routine  in  applying  the  treat- 
ment, has  no  common  medical  career  before 
him.  His  hohday  will  set  his  health  right  in 
next  to  no  time.  I  see  nothing  in  his  way,  at 
present — ^not  even  a  woman !  But,'  said  Sir 
Eichard,  with  the  explanatory  wink  of  one  eye 
peculiar  (like  quotation  from  Shakspeare)  to 
persons  of  the  obsolete  old  time,  ''we  know 
better  than  to  forecast  the  weather  if  a  petti- 
coat influence  appears  on  the  horizon.  One 
prediction,  however,  I  do  risk.  If  his  mother 
buys  any  of  that  lace — I  know  who  will  get 
the  best  of  the  bargain  ! ' 

The  conditions  under  which  the  old  doctor 
was  willing  to  assume  the  character  of  a 
prophet  never  occurred.  Ovid  remembered 
that  he  was  going  aw^ay  on  a  long  v'oyage — 
and  Ovid  was  a  good  son.  He  bought  some 
of  the  lace,  as  a  present  to  his  mother  at  part- 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  ji 

xng ;  and,  most  assuredly,  he  got  the  worst  of 
the  bargain. 

His  shortest  way  back  to  the  straight 
course,  from  which  he  had  deviated  in  making 
his  purchase,  led  him  into  a  by-street,  near  the 
flower  and  fruit  market  of  Covent  Garden. 
Here  he  met  with  the  second  in  number  of  the 
circumstances  which  attended  his  walk.  He 
foimd  himself  encountered  by  an  intolerably 
filthy  smell. 

The  market  was  not  out  of  the  direct  way 
to  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  He  fled  from  the  smell 
to  the  flowery  and  fruity  perfumes  of  Covent 
Garden,  and  completed  the  disinfecting  process 
by  means  of  a  basket  of  strawberries. 

"Why  did  a  poor  ragged  little  girl,  carrying 
a  big  baby,  look  with  such  longing  eyes  at  the 
delicious  fruit,  that,  as  a  kind-hearted  man,  he 
had  no  alternative  but  to  make  her  a  present 
of  the  strawberries  ?  Why  did  two  dirty  boy- 
friends of  hers  appear  immediately  afterwards 


12  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

with  news  of  Punch  in  a  neighbouring  street, 
and  lead  the  httle  girl  away  with  them  ?  Why 
did  these  two  new  circumstances  inspire  him 
with  a  fear  that  the  boys  might  take  the 
strawberries  away  from  the  poor  child,  bur- 
dened as  she  was  with  a  baby  almost  as  big  as 
herself?  When  we  suffer  from  overwrought 
nerves  we  are  easily  disturbed  by  small  mis- 
givings. The  idle  man  of  wearied  mind 
followed  the  friends  of  the  street  drama  to 
see  what  happened,  forgetful  of  the  College  of 
Surgeons,  and  finding  anew  fund  of  amusement 
in  himself. 

Arrived  in  the  neighboming  street,  he  dis- 
covered that  the  Punch  performance  had  come 
to  an  end — Hke  some  other  dramatic  perform- 
ances of  higher  pretensions — for  want  of  a 
paying  audience.  He  waited  at  a  certain 
distance,  watching  the  children.  His  doubts 
had  done  them  an  injustice.  The  boys  only 
said,  '  Give  us  a  taste.'     And  the  liberal  little 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  13 

girl  rewarded  their  good  conduct.  An  equit- 
able and  friendly  division  of  the  strawberries 
was  made  in  a  quiet  corner. 

Where — always  excepting  the  case  of  a 
miser  or  a  milhonaire — is  the  man  to  be  found 
who  could  have  returned  to  the  pursuit  of  his 
own  afiairs,  under  these  circumstances,  without 
encouraging  the  practice  of  the  social  virtues 
by  a  present  of  a  few  pennies  ?  Ovid  was  not 
that  man. 

Putting  back  in  his  breast-pocket  the  bag 
in  which  he  was  accustomed  to  carry  small 
coins  for  small  charities,  his  hand  touched 
something  which  felt  like  the  envelope  of  a 
letter.  He  took  it  out — looked  at  it  with  an 
expression  of  annoyance  and  surprise — and 
once  more  turned  aside  from  ihc  direct  way  to 
Lincoln's  Inn  Fields. 

The  envelope  contained  his  last  prescription. 
Having  occasion  to  consult  the  'PharmacopoDia, 
he  had  written  it  at  home,  and  had  promised 


14  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

to  send  it  to  the  patient  immediately.  In  the 
absorbing  interest  of  making  his  preparations 
for  leaving  England,  it  had  remained  forgotten 
in  his  pocket  for  nearly  two  days.  The  one 
means  of  setting  this  unlucky  error  right,  with- 
out further  delay,  was  to  deliver  his  prescrip- 
tion himself,  and  to  break  through  his  own 
rules  for  the  second  time  by  attending  to  a 
case  of  illness — purely  as  an  act  of  atone- 
ment. 

The  patient  hved  in  a  house  nearly  opposite 
to  the  British  Museum.  In  this  northward 
direction  he  now  set  his  face. 

He  made  his  apologies,  and  gave  his  advice 
— and,  getting  out  again  into  the  street,  tried 
once  more  to  shape  his  course  for  the  College 
of  Surgeons.  Passing  the  w^alled  garden  of  the 
British  Museum,  he  looked  towards  it — and 
paused.  What  had  stopped  him,  this  time.^ 
Nothing  but  a  tree,  fluttering  its  bright  leaves 
in  the  faint  summer  air. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  15 

A  marked  change  showed  itself  in  his  face. 

The  moment  before  he  had  been  passing  in 
review  the  curious  httle  interruptions  which 
had  attended  his  walk,  and  had  wondered 
humorously  what  would  happen  next.  Two 
women,  meeting  him,  and  seeing  a  smile  on  his 
lips,  had  said  to  each  other,  *  There  goes  a 
happy  man.'  If  they  had  encountered  him 
now,  they  might  have  reversed  their  opinion. 
They  would  have  seen  a  man  thinking  of 
something  once  dear  to  him,  in  the  far  and 
unforgotten  past. 

He  crossed  over  the  road  to  the  side-street 
which  faced  the  garden.  His  head  drooped ; 
he  moved  mechanically.  Arrived  in  the  street, 
he  lifted  his  eyes,  and  stood  (within  nearer 
view  of  it)  looking  at  the  tree. 

Hundreds  of  miles  away  from  London, 
under  another  tree  of  that  gentle  family,  this 
man — so  cold  to  women  in  after  life — had 
made  child-love,  in  the  days  of  his  boyhood,  to 


i6  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

a  sweet  little  cousin  long  since  numbered  with 
the  dead.  The  present  time,  with  its  interests 
and  anxieties,  passed  away  like  the  passing 
of  a  dream.  Little  by  little,  as  the  minutes 
followed  each  other,  his  sore  heart  felt  a  calm- 
ing influence,  breathed  mysteriously  from  those 
fluttering  leaves.  Still  forgetful  of  the  outward 
world,  he  wandered  slowly  up  the  street ;  living 
in  the  old  scenes ;  thinking,  not  unhappily 
now,  the  old  thoughts. 

Where,  in  all  London,  could  he  have  found 
a  solitude  more  congenial  to  a  dreamer  in  day- 
light ? 

The  broad  district,  stretching  northward 
and  eastward  from  the  British  Museum,  is  like 
the  quiet  quarter  of  a  country  town  set  in  the 
midst  of  the  roaring  activities  of  the  largest 
city  in  the  world.  Here,  you  can  cross  the 
road,  without  putting  limb  or  hfe  in  peril. 
Here,  when  you  are  idle,  you  can  saunter  and 
look  about,  safe  from  collision  with  merciless 


HEART  AXD  SCIENCE.  17 

straight-walkers  whose  tune  is  money,  and 
whose  destiny  is  business.  Here,  you  may 
meet  undisturbed  cats  on  the  pavement,  in  the 
full  glare  of  noontide,  and  may  watch,  through 
the  railings  of  the  squares,  children  at  play  on 
grass  that  almost  glows  Avith  the  lustre  of  the 
Sussex  Downs.  This  haven  of  rest  is  alike  out 
of  the  way  of  fashion  and  business  ;  and  is  yet 
within  easy  reach  of  the  one  and  the  other. 
Ovid  paused  in  a  vast  and  silent  square.  If  his 
little  cousin  had  lived,  he  might  perhaps  have 
seen  his  children  at  play  in  some  such  secluded 
place  as  this. 

The  birds  were  singing  blithely  in  the  trees. 
A  tradesman's  boy,  delivering  fish  to  the  cook, 
ani  two  girls  watering  flowers  at  a  windoAv, 
were  the  only  living  creatures  near  him,  as  he 
roused  himself  and  looked  around. 

Where  was  the  College  ?  Where  were  the 
Curator  and  tlie  Specimen?  Those  questions 
brought  witli    tliem  no   feeling  of  anxiety  or 

VOL.  I.  c 


i8  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

sui'prise.  He  turned,  in  a  half-awakened  way, 
without  a  wish  or  a  purpose — turned,  and 
listlessly  looked  back. 

Two  foot-passengers,  dressed  in  mourning 
garments,  were  rapidly  approaching  him.  One 
of  them,  as  they  came  nearer,  proved  to  be  an 
aged  woman.     The  other  was  a  girl. 

He  drew  aside  to  let  them  pass.  They 
looked  at  him  with  the  lukewarm  curiosity  of 
strangers,  as  they  went  by.  The  girl's  eyes 
and  his  met.  Only  the  glance  of  an  instant — 
and  its  influence  held  him  for  life. 

She  went  swiftly  on,  as  little  impressed  by 
the  chance  meeting  as  the  old  woman  at  her 
side.  Without  stopping  to  think  —  without 
being  capable  of  thought — Ovid  followed  them. 
Never  before  had  he  done  what  he  was  doing 
now  ;  he  was,  literally,  out  of  himself.  He 
saw  them  ahead  of  him,  and  he  saw  nothing 
else. 

Towards  the  middle   of  the  square,  they 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  19 

turned  aside  into  a  street  on  the  left.  A 
concert-hall  was  in  the  street  —  with  doors 
open  for  an  afternoon  performance.  They 
entered  the  hall.  Still  out  of  himself,  Ovid 
followed  them. 


c2 


20  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  ROOM  of  magnificent  size ;  furnished  with 
every  conventional  luxury  that  money  can 
buy;  lavishly  provided  with  newspapers  and 
books  of  reference  ;  lighted  by  tall  windows  in 
the  day-time,  and  by  gorgeous  chandeliers  at 
night,  may  be  nevertheless  one  of  the  dreariest 
places  of  rest  and  shelter  that  can  be  found  on  the 
civilised  earth.  Such  places  exist,  by  hundreds, 
in  those  hotels  of  monstrous  proportions  and 
pretensions,  which  now  eugulph  the  traveller 
who  ends  his  journey  on  the  pier  or  the 
platform.  It  may  be  that  we  feel  ourselves  to 
be  strangers  among  strangers — it  may  be  that 
there  is  something  innately  repellent  in  splendid 
carpets  and  curtains,  chairs  and  tables,  which 
have    no    social    associations    to    recommend 


HEART  AND   SCIENCE.  21 

them — it  may  be  that  the  mind  loses  its  elas- 
ticity under  the  inevitable  restraint  on  friendly 
communication,  which  expresses  itself  in  lowered 
tones  and  instinctive  distrust  of  our  next  neigh- 
bour ;  but  this  alone  is  certain :  life,  in  the 
public  drawing-room  of  a  gi-eat  hotel,  is  life 
with  all  its  healthiest  emanations  perishing  in 
an  exhausted  receiver. 

On  the  same  day,  and  nearly  at  the  same 
hour,  when  Ovid  had  left  his  house,  two 
women  sat  in  a  corner  of  the  public  room,  in 
one  of  the  largest  of  the  railway  hotels  latterly 
built  in  London. 

Without  observing  it  themselves,  they  were 
objects  of  curiosity  to  their  fellow-travellers. 
They  spoke  to  each  other  in  a  foreign  language. 
They  were  dressed  in  deep  mourning — with  an 
absence  of  fasliion  and  a  simplicity  of  material 
which  attracted  the  notice  of  every  other 
woman  in  the  room.  One  of  them  wore  a 
black   veil   over   her   gray  hair.     Her   hands 


22  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

were  brown,  and  knotty  at  the  joints ;  her  eyes 
looked  unnaturally  bright  for  her  age;  innu- 
merable wrinkles  crossed  and  re-crossed  her 
skinny  face ;  and  her  aquihne  nose  (as  one  of 
the  ladies  present  took  occasion  to  remark) 
was  so  disastrously  like  the  nose  of  the  great 
Duke  of  Wellington  as  to  be  an  offensive 
feature  in  the  face  of  a  woman. 

The  lady's  companion,  being  a  man,  took 
a  more  merciful  view.  '  She  can't  help  being 
ugly,'  he  whispered.  '  But  see  how  she  looks 
at  the  girl  with  her.  A  good  old  creature,  I 
say,  if  ever  there  was  one  yet.'  The  lady  eyed 
him,  as  only  a  jealous  woman  can  eye  her 
husband,  and  whispered  back,  '  Of  course 
you're  in  love  with  that  slip  of  a  girl ! ' 

She  was  a  shp  of  a  girl — and  not  even  a 
tall  shp.  At  seventeen  years  of  age,  it  was 
doubtful  whether  she  would  ever  grow  to  a 
better  height. 

But  a  gui  who  is  too  thin,  and  not  even 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  23 

SO  tall  as  the  Venus  de'  Medici,  may  still  be 
possessed  of  personal  attractions.  It  was  not 
altogether  a  matter  of  certainty,  in  this  case, 
that  the  attractions  were  sufficiently  remarkable 
to  excite  general  admiration.  The  fine  colour 
and  the  plump  healthy  cheeks,  the  broad  smile, 
the  regular  teeth,  the  well-developed  mouth, 
and  the  promising  bosom,  which  form  alto- 
gether the  average  type  of  beauty  found  in  the 
purely  bred  English  maiden,  were  not  among 
the  noticeable  charms  of  the  small  creature 
in  gloomy  black,  shrinking  into  a  corner  of  the 
big  room.  She  had  very  little  colour  of  any 
sort  to  boast  of.  Her  hair  was  of  so  light  a 
brown  that  it  just  escaped  being  flaxen ;  but 
it  had  the  negative  merit  of  not  being  forced 
down  to  her  eyebrows,  and  twisted  into  the 
hideous  curly-wig  which  exhibits  a  liberal 
equality  of  ugliness  on  the  heads  of  women  in 
the  present  day.  There  was  a  delicacy  of 
finish  in  her  featiu:es — in  the  nose  and  the  lips 


24  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

especially — a  sensitive  cliangefulness  in  the  ex- 
pression of  her  eyes  (too  dark  in  themselves  to 
be  quite  in  harmony  with  her  light  hair),  and  a 
subtle  yet  simple  witchery  in  her  rare  smile, 
which  atoned,  in  some  degree  at  least,  for  want 
of  complexion  in  the  face  and  of  flesh  in  the 
figure.  Men  might  dispute  her  claims  to 
beauty — but  no  one  could  deny  that  she  was, 
in  the  common  phrase,  an  interesting  person. 
Grace  and  refinement;  a  quickness  of  appre- 
hension and  a  vivacity  of  movement,  suggestive 
of  some  foreign  origin ;  a  childish  readiness 
of  wonder,  in  the  presence  of  new  objects — 
and  perhaps,  under  happier  circumstances,  a 
childish  playfulness  with  persons  whom  she 
loved — were  all  characteristic  attractions  of  the 
modest  stranger  who  was  in  the  charge  of  the 
ugly  old  woman,  and  who  was  palpably  the 
object  of  that  wrinkled  duenna's  devoted  love. 
A  travelling  writing-case  stood  open  on  a 
table  near  them.     In  an  interval  of  silence  the 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  25 

girl  looked  at  it  reluctantly.  They  Lad  been 
talking  of  family  affairs — and  had  spoken  in 
Italian,  so  as  to  keep  their  domestic  secrets 
from  the  ears  of  the  strangers  about  them. 
The  old  woman  was  the  first  to  resume  the 
conversation. 

'  My  Carmina,  you  really  ought  to  write 
that  letter,'  she  said ;  'the  illustrious  Mrs. 
GalUlee  is  waiting  to  hear  of  our  arrival  in 
London.' 

Carmina  took  up  the  pen,  and  put  it  down 
again  with  a  sigh.  '  We  only  arrived  last  night,' 
she  pleaded.  'Dear  old  Teresa,  let  us  have 
one  day  in  London  by  ourselves ! ' 

Teresa  received  this  proposal  with  undis- 
guised amazement  and  alarm. 

'  Jesu  Maria !  a  day  in  London — and  your 
aunt  waiting  for  you  all  the  time !  She  is 
your  second  mother,  my  dear,  by  appointment ; 
and  her  house  is  your  new  home.  And  you 
propose  to  stop  a  whole  day  at  an  hotel,  instead 


26  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

of  going  home.  Impossible !  Write,  my 
Carmina — write.  See,  here  is  the  address  on 
a  card : — "  Fairfield  Gardens."  What  a  pretty- 
place  it  must  be  to  live  in,  with  such  a  name  as 
that !  And  a  sweet  lady,  no  doubt.  Come  ! 
come ! ' 

But  Carmina  still  resisted.  '  I  have  never 
even  seen  my  aunt,'  she  said.  '  It  is  dreadful 
to  pass  my  life  with  a  stranger.  Eemember,  I 
was  only  a  child  when  you  came  to  us  after  my 
mother's  death.  It  is  hardly  six  months  yet 
since  I  lost  my  father.  I  have  no  one  but  you, 
and,  when  I  go  to  this  new  home,  you  will 
leave  me.  I  only  ask  for  one  more  day  to  be 
together,  before  we  part.' 

The  poor  old  duenna  drew  back  out  of 
sight,  in  the  shadow  of  a  curtain — and  began 
to  cry.  Carmina  took  her  hand,  under  cover 
of  a  table-cloth ;  Carmina  knew  how  to  console 
her.  *  We  will  go  and  see  sights,'  she  whis- 
pered    'and,   when   dinner-time   comes,   you 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  27 

shall     have     a     glass     of    the     Porto-porto- 
wine.' 

Teresa,  looked  round  out  of  the  shadow,  as 
easily    comforted  as  a   child.     *  Sights ! '  she 
exclaimed — and     dried     her    tears.      '  Porto- 
porto-wine  ! '  she  repeated — and  smacked  her 
withered  Hps  at  the  relishing  words.     *  Ah,  my 
child,  you  have  not  forgotten  the  consolations 
I  told  you  of,  when  I  lived  in  London  in  my 
young  days.     To  think  of  you,  with  an  Enghsh 
father,  and  never  in  London  till  now !     I  used 
to  go  to  museums  and  concerts  sometimes,  when 
ray  English  mistress  was    pleased  with  me. 
That  gracious  lady  often  gave  me  a  glass  of  the 
fine   strong  puq^le   wine.     The   Holy  Virgin 
grant  that   Aunt  Gallilee  may  be  as  kind  a 
woman  !     Such  a  head  of  hair  as  the  other  one 
she  cannot  hope  to  have.     It  was  a  joy  to  dress 
it.      Do  you  think  I  wouldn't  stay  here   in 
England  with  you  if  I  could  ?     What  is  to  be- 
come of  my  old  man  in  Italy,  with  his  cursed 


28  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

asthma,  and  nobody  to  nurse  him  ?  Oh,  but 
those  were  dull  years  in  London  !  The  black 
endless  streets — the  dreadful  Sundays — the 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  people,  always  in  a 
hurry  ;  always  with  grim  faces  set  on  business, 
business,  business  !  I  was  glad  to  go  back  and 
be  married  in  Italy.  And  here  I  am  in  London 
a'gain,  after  God  knows  how  many  years.  No 
matter.  We  will  enjoy  ourselves  to-day ;  and 
when  we  go  to  Madam  Gallilee's  to-morrow, 
we  will  tell  a  little  lie,  and  say  we  only  arrived 
on  the  evening  that  has  not  yet  come.' 

The  duenna's  sense  of  humour  was  so 
tickled  by  this  prospective  view  of  the  little 
lie,  that  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and 
laughed.  Carmina's  rare  smile  showed  itself 
faintly.  The  terrible  first  interview  with  the 
unknown  aunt  still  oppressed  her.  She  took 
up  a  newspaper  in  despair.  '  Oh,  my  old 
dear ! '  she  said,  '  let  us  get  out  of  this  dreadfid 
room,  and  be  reminded  of  Italy  ! ' 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  29 

Teresa  lifted  her  ugly  hands  in  bewilder- 
ment.    '  Eeminded  of  Italy — in  London  ?  ' 

'  Is  there  no  Italian  music  in  London  ? ' 
Carmina  asked  suggestively. 

The  duenna's  bright  eyes  answered  this  in 
their  own  language.  She  snatched  up  the 
nearest  newspaper. 

It  was  then  the  height  of  the  London  con- 
cert season.  Morning  performances  of  music 
were  announced  in  rows.  Heading  the  adver- 
tised programmes,  Carmina  found  them,  in  one 
remarkable  respect,  all  alike.  They  would 
have  led  an  ignorant  stranger  to  wonder 
whether  any  such  persons  as  Italian  com- 
posers, French  composers,  and  English  com- 
posers had  ever  existed.  The  music  offered 
to  the  English  public  was  music  of  exclu- 
sively German  (and  for  the  most  part  modern 
German)  origin.  Carmina  held  the  opinion — 
in  common  with  Mozart  and  Rossini,  as  well 
as  other   people — that  music   without  melody 


30  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

is  not  music  at  all.  She  laid  aside  the  news- 
paper. 

The  plan  of  going  to  a  concert  being  thus 
abandoned,  the  idea  occurred  to  them  of  seeing 
pictures.  Teresa,  in  search  of  information, 
tried  her  luck  at  a  great  table  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  on  which  useful  books  were  liber- 
ally displayed.  She  returned  with  a  catalogue 
of  the  Eoyal  Academy  Exhibition  (which  some- 
one had  left  on  the  table),  and  with  the  most 
universally  well-informed  book,  on  a  small 
scale,  that  has  ever  enlightened  humanity — 
modestly  described  on  the  title-page  as  an 
Almanac. 

Carmina  opened  the  catalogue  at  the  first 
page,  and  discovered  a  list  of  Eoyal  Acade- 
micians. Were  all  these  gentlemen  celebrated 
painters?  Out  of  nearly  forty  names,  three 
only  had  made  themselves  generally  known 
beyond  the  limits  of  England.  She  turned  to 
the  last  page.     The  works  of  art   on  show 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  31 

numbered  more  than  fifteen  lumdred.  Teresa, 
looking  over  her  shoulder,  made  the  same  dis- 
covery. '  Our  heads  will  ache,  and  our  feet  will 
ache,'  she  remarked, '  before  we  get  out  of  that 
place.'     Carmina  laid  aside  the  catalogue. 

Teresa  opened  the  Almanac  at  hazard,  and 
hit  on  the  poge  devoted  to  Amusements.  Her 
next  discovery  led  her  to  the  section  inscribed 
*  Museums.'  She  scored  an  approving  mark  at 
that  place  with  her  thumb-nail — and  read  the 
list  in  fluent  broken  English. 

The  British  Museum  ?  Teresa's  memory 
of  that  magnificent  building  recalled  it  vividly 
in  one  respect.  She  shook  her  head.  '  More 
headache  and  footache,  there  !  '  Bethnal 
Green  ;  Indian  Museum  ;  College  of  Surgeons  ; 
Practical  Geology  ;  South  Kensington ;  Patent 
Museum — all  unknown  to  Teresa.  *  The  saints 
preserve  us  !  what  headaches  and  footachea  in 
all  these,  if  they  are  as  big  as  that  other  one  ! ' 
She   went  on   with  the   list — and   astonished 


32  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

everybody  in  the  room  by  suddenly  clapping 
her  hands.  Sir  John  Soane's  Museum, 
Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  'Ah,  but  I  remember 
that !  A  nice  little  easy  museum  in  a  private 
house,  and  all  sorts  of  pretty  things  to  see. 
My  dear  love,  trust  your  old  Teresa.  Come  to 
Soane ! ' 

In  ten  minutes  more  they  were  dressed, 
and  on  the  steps  of  the  hotel.  The  bright 
sunlight,  the  pleasant  air,  invited  them  to  walk. 
On  the  same  afternoon,  when  Ovid  had  set 
forth  on  foot  for  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  Carmina 
and  Teresa  set  forth  on  foot  for  Lincoln's  Inn 
Fields.  Trivial  obstacles  had  kept  the  man 
away  from  the  College.  Would  trivial  ob- 
stacles keep  the  women  away  from  the 
Museum  ? 

They  crossed  the  Strand,  and  entered  a 
street  which  led  out  of  it  towards  the  North  ; 
Teresa's  pride  in  her  memory  forbidding  her 
thus  far  to  ask  their  way. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  33 

Their  talk — dwelling  at  first  on  Italy,  and 
ou  the  memory  of  Carmina's  Italian  mother — 
reverted   to   the   formidable   subject   of    Mrs. 
Gallilee.     Teresa's  liopeful  view  of  the  future 
turned  to  the  cousins,  and  drew  the  picture  of 
two  charming  little  girls,  eagerly  waiting   to 
give  their   innocent    hearts    to    their    young 
relative  from  Italy.     '  Are  there   onty  two  ?  ' 
she  said.     '  Surely  you  told  me  there  was  a 
boy,   besides   the   girls  ? '      Carmina   set    her 
right.     '  My  cousin  Ovid  is  a  great  doctor,'  she 
continued  with  an  air  of  importance.     '  Poor 
papa  used  to  say  that  our  family  would  ha\'e 
reason  to  be  proud  of  him.'     '  Does  he  Uve  at 
home  ?  '  asked  simple  Teresa.     '  Oh,  dear,  no  ! 
He  has  a  grand  house  of  his  own.     Hundreds 
of  sick  people  go  there  to  be  cured,  and  give 
hundreds    of    golden   guineas.'     Hundreds   of 
golden    guineas   gained   by   only   curing   sick 
people,  represented  to  Teresa's  mind  something 
in  the  nature  of  a  miracle  :  she  solenmly  raised 

VOL.  I.  D 


34  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

lier  eyes  to  heaven.  'What  a  cousin  to 
have  !  Is  he  young  ?  is  he  handsome  ?  is  he 
married  ?  ' 

Instead  of  answering  these  questions,  Car- 
mina  looked  over  her  shoulder.  '  Is  this  poor 
creature  following  us  ?  '  she  asked. 

They  had  now  turned  to  the  right,  and 
had  entered  a  busy  street  leading  directly  to 
Covent  Garden.  The  '  creature '  (who  was 
undoubtedly  following  them)  was  one  of  the 
starved  and  vagabond  dogs  of  London.  Every 
now  and  then,  the  sympathies  of  their  race  lead 
these  inveterate  wanderers  to  attach  themselves, 
for  the  time,  to  some  human  companion,  whom 
their  mysterious  insight  chooses  from  the  crowd. 
Teresa,  with  the  hard  feeling  towards  animals 
which  is  one  of  the  serious  defects  of  the  Itahan 
character,  cried,  '  Ah,  the  mangy  beast ! '  and 
lifted  her  umbrella.  The  dog  tarted  back, 
waited  a  moment,  and  followed  them  again 
as  they  went  on.     Carmiua's  gentle  heart  gave 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  35 

its  pity  to  this  lost  and  hungry  fellow- creature. 
'  I  must  buy  that  poor  dog  something  to  eat,' 
she  said — and  stopped  suddenly  as  the  idea 
struck  her. 

The  dog,  accustomed  to  kicks  and  curses, 
was  ignorant  of  kindness.  Following  close 
behind  her,  when  she  checked  herself,  he 
darted  away  in  terror  into  the  road.  A  cab 
was  driven  by  rapidly  at  the  same  moment. 
The  wheel  passed  over  the  dog's  neck.  And 
there  was  an  end,  as  a  man  remarked  looking 
on,  of  the  troubles  of  a  cin\ 

This  common  accident  struck  the  girl's 
sensitive  nature  with  horror.  Helpless  and 
speechless,  she  trembled  piteously.  The  nearest 
open  door  was  the  door  of  a  music-seller's 
shop.  Teresa  led  her  in,  and  asked  for  a  chair 
and  a  glass  of  water.  The  proprietor,  feeling 
the  interest  in  Carmina  which  she  seldom  failed 
to  inspire  among  strangers,  went  the  length  of 
offering  her  a  glass  of  wine.     Preferring  water, 

d2 


36  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

she  soon  recovered  herself  sufficiently  to   be 
able  to  leave  her  chair. 

'May  I  change  my  mind  about  going  to 
the  museum  ? '  she  said  to  her  companion. 
'  After  what  has  happened,  I  hardly  feel  equal 
to  looking  at  curiosities.' 

Teresa's  ready  sympathy  tried  to  find  some 
acceptable  alternative.  'Music  would  be 
better,  wouldn't  it  ?  '  she  suggested. 

The  so-called  Italian  Opera  was  open  that 
night,  and  the  printed  announcement  of  the 
performance  was  in  the  shop.  They  both 
looked  at  it.  Fortune  was  still  against  them. 
A  German  opera  appeared  on  the  bill. 
Carmina  turned  to  the  music-seller  in  despair. 
'  Is  there  no  music,  sir,  but  German  music 
to  be  heard  in  London  ? '  she  asked.  The 
hospitable  shopkeeper  produced  a  concert  pro- 
gramme for  that  afternoon — the  modest  enter- 
prise of  an  obscure  piano-lbrte  teacher,  who 
could  only  venture  to  address  pupils,  patrons, 


HEART  AND   SCIENCE.  yj 

and  friends.  What  did  he  promise  ?  Among 
other  things,  music  from  'Lucia,'  music  from 
*  Norma,'  music  from  '  Ernani.'  Teresa  made 
another  approving  mark  with  her  thumb-nail ; 
and  Carmina  purchased  tickets. 

The  music-seller  hurried  to  the  door  to  stop 
the  first  empty  cab  that  might  pass.  Carmina 
showed  a  deplorable  ignorance  of  the  law  of 
chances.  She  shrank  from  the  bare  idea  of 
getting  into  a  cab.  '  We  may  run  over  some 
other  poor  creature,'  she  said.  'If  it  isn't  a 
dog,  it  may  be  a  child  next  time.'  Teresa  and 
the  music-seller  suggested  a  more  reasonable 
view  as  gravely  as  they  coidd.  Carmina 
humbly  submitted  to  the  claims  of  common 
sense — without  yielding,  for  all  that.  '  I  know 
I'm  wrong,'  she  confessed.  'Don't  spoil  my 
pleasure  ;  I  can't  do  it ! ' 

The  strange  parallel  was  now  complete. 
Bound  for  the  same  destination,  Carmina  and 


38  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

Ovid  had  failed  to  reach  it  alike.  And 
Carmina  had  stopped  to  Jook  at  the  garden  of 
the  British  Museum,  before  she  overtook  Ovid 
in  the  quiet  square. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE:  39 


CHAPTER  IV. 

If,  on  entering  the  hall,  Ovid  had  noticed  the 
placards,  he  would  have  found  himself  con- 
fronted by  a  coincidence.  The  person  who 
gave  the  concert  was  also  the  person  who 
taught  music  to  his  half-sisters.  Not  many- 
days  since,  he  had  himself  assisted  the  enter- 
prise, by  taking  a  ticket  at  his  mother's  request. 
Seeing  nothing,  remembering  nothing — hurried 
by  the  fear  of  losing  sight  of  the  two  strangers 
if  there  was  a  large  audience — he  impatiently 
paid  for  another  ticket,  at  the  doors. 

The  room  was  little  more  than  half  full,  and 
so  insufficiently  ventilated  that  the  atmosphere 
was  oppressive  even  under  those  circumstances. 
He  easily  discovered  the  two  central  chairs,  in 


40  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

the  midway  row  of  seats,  which  she  and  her 
companion  had  chosen.  There  was  a  vacant 
chair  (among  many  others)  at  one  extremity  of 
the  row  in  front  of  them.  He  took  that  place. 
To  look  at  her,  without  being  discovered — 
there,  so  far,  was  the  beginning  and  the  end 
of  his  utmost  desire. 

The  perfonnances  had  already  begun.  So 
long  as  her  attention  was  directed  to  the  singers 
and  players  on  the  platform,  he  could  feast  his 
eyes  on  her  with  impunity.  In  an  unoccupied 
interval,  she  looked  at  the  audience — and  dis- 
covered him. 

Had  he  offended  her  ? 

If  appearances  were  to  be  trusted,  he  had 
produced  no  impression  of  any  sort.  She 
quietly  looked  away,  towards  the  other  side  of 
the  room.  The  mere  turning  of  her  head  was 
misinterpreted  by  Ovid  as  an  implied  rebuke. 
He  moved  to  the  row  of  seats  behind  her. 
She  was  now  nearer  to  him  than  she  had  been 


HEART  AND   SCIENCE.  41 

yet.     He  was  again  content,   and  more  than 
content. 

The  next  performance  was  a  solo  on  the 
piano.  A  round  of  applause  welcomed  the 
player.  Ovid  looked  at  the  platform  for  the 
first  time.  In  the  bowing  man,  with  a  pre- 
maturely bald  head  and  a  servile  smile,  he 
recognised  Mrs.  Gallilee's  music-master.  The 
inevitable  inference  followed.  His  mother 
might  be  in  the  room. 

After  careful  examination  of  the  scanty 
audience,  he  failed  to  discover  her — thus  far. 
She  would  certainly  arrive,  nevertheless.  My 
money's-worth  for  my  money  was  a  leading 
principle  in  Mrs.  Gallilee's  life. 

He  sighed  as  he  looked  towards  the  door 
of  entrance.  Not  for  long  had  he  revelled  in 
the  luxury  of  a  new  happiness.  He  had  openly 
avowed  liis  dislike  of  concerts,  when  his  mother 
had  made  him  take  a  ticket  for  this  concert. 
With    her    quickness    of    apprehension   what 


42  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

might  she  not  suspect,  if  she  found  him  among 
the  audience  ? 

Come  what  might  of  it,  he  still  kept  his 
place ;  he  still  feasted  his  eyes  on  the  slim 
figure  of  the  young  girl,  on  the  gentle  yet 
spirited  carriage  of  her  head.  But  the  pleasure 
was  no  longer  pleasure  without  alloy.  His 
mother  had  got  between  them  now. 

The  solo  on  the  piano  came  to  an  end. 

In  the  interval  that  followed,  he  turned 
once  more  towards  the  entrance.  Just  as  he 
was  looking  away  again,  he  heard  Mrs. 
Gallilee's  loud  voice.  She  was  administering 
a  maternal  caution  to  one  of  the  children. 
'  Behave  better  here  than  you  behaved  in  the 
carriage,  or  I  shall  take  you  away.' 

If  she  found  him  in  his  present  place — if 
she  put  her  own  clever  construction  on  what 
she  saw — her  opinion  would  assuredly  express 
itself  in  some  way.  She  was  one  of  those 
women  who  can   insult  another  woman  (and 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  43 

safely  disguise  it)  by  an  inquiring  look.  For 
the  girl's  sake,  Ovid  instantly  moved  away 
from  her  to  the  seats  at  the  back  of  the 
hall. 

Mrs.  Gallilee  made  a  striking  entrance — 
dressed  to  perfection ;  powdered  and  painted 
to  perfection ;  leading  her  daughters,  and 
followed  by  her  governess.  The  usher  cour- 
teously indicated  places  near  the  platform. 
Mrs.  Gallilee  astonished  him  by  a  little  lecture 
on  acoustics,  delivered  with  the  sweetest  con- 
descension. Her  Christian  humihty  smiled, 
and  called  the  usher.  Sir.  '  Sound,  sir,  is  most 
perfectly  heard  towards  the  centre  of  the  audi- 
torium.' She  led  the  way  towards  the  centre. 
Vacant  places  invited  her  to  the  row  of  seats 
occupied  by  Carmina  and  Teresa.  She,  the 
unknown  aunt,  seated  herself  next  to  the 
unknown  niece. 

They  looked  at  each  other. 

Perhaps,  it  was   the  heat   of    the  room. 


44  HEART  AND   SCIENCE. 

Perhaps,  she  had  not  perfectly  recovered  the 
nervous  shock  of  seeing  the  dog  killed.  Car- 
mina's  head  sank  on  good  Teresa's  shoulder. 
She  had  fainted. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  45 


CHAPTEE  V. 

'  May  I  ask  for  a  cup  of  tea,  Miss  Minerva  ? ' 
'  Delighted,  I'm  sure,  Mr.  Le  Frank.' 
'And  was  Mrs.   Gallilee  pleased  with  the 
Concert  P ' 
'  Charmed.' 

Mr.  Le  Frank  shook  his  head.  '  I  am 
afraid  there  was  a  drawback,'  he  suggested. 
'  You  forget  the  lady  who  fainted.  So  alarm- 
ing to  the  audience.  So  disagreeable  to  the 
artists.' 

'  Take  care,  Mr.  Le  Frank !  These  new 
houses  are  flimsily  built ;  they  might  hear  you 
upstairs.  The  fainting  lady  is  upstairs.  All 
the  elements  of  a  romance  are  upstairs.  Is 
your  tea  to  your  liking  ?  ' 


46  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

In  this  playfully  provocative  manner,  Miss 
Minerva  (the  governess)  trifled  with  the  curi- 
osity of  Mr.  Le  Frank  (the  music-master),  as 
the  proverbial  cat  trifles  with  the  terror  of  the 
captive  mouse.  The  man  of  the  bald  head  and 
the  servile  smile  showed  a  polite  interest  in  the 
eoming  disclosure  :  he  opened  his  deeply-sunk 
eyes,  and  lazily  lifted  his  delicate  eyebrows. 

He  had  called  at  Mrs.  Gallilee's  house, 
after  the  concert,  to  get  a  httle  tea  (with  a 
large  infusion  of  praise)  in  the  schoolroom.  A 
striking  j)ersonal  contrast  confronted  him,  in 
the  face  of  the  lady  who  was  dispensing  the 
hospitalities  of  the  table.  Mr.  Le  Frank's 
plump  cheeks  were,  in  colour,  of  the  obtru- 
sively florid  sort.  The  rehcs  of  yellow  hair, 
still  adhering  to  the  sides  of  his  head,  looked 
as  silkily  frail  as  spun  glass.  His  noble  beard 
made  amends  for  his  untimely  baldness.  The 
glossy  glory  of  it  exhaled  delicious  perfumes ; 
the  keenest  eyes  might  have  tried  in  vain  to 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  47 

discover  a  hair  that  Avas  out  of  place.  Miss 
Minerva's  eager  sallow  face,  so  lean,  and  so 
hard,  and  so  long,  looked,  by  contrast,  as  if  it 
wanted  some  sort  of  discreet  covering  thrown 
over  some  part  of  it.  Her  coarse  black  hair 
projected  like  a  penthouse  over  her  bushy- 
black  eyebrows  and  her  keen  black  eyes.  Oh, 
dear  me  (as  they  said  in  the  servants'  hall),  she 
would  never  be  married — so  yellow  and  so 
learned,  so  ugly  and  so  poor !  And  yet,  if 
mystery  is  interesting,  this  was  an  interesting 
woman.  The  people  about  her  felt  an  uneasy 
perception  of  something  secret,  ominously 
secret,  in  the  nature  of  the  governess  which 
defied  detection.  If  Inquisitive  Science,  vowed 
to  medical  research,  could  dissect  firmness  of 
will,  working  at  its  steadiest  repressive  action — 
then,  the  mystery  of  Miss  Minerva's  inner 
nature  might  possibly  have  been  revealed.  As 
it  was,  nothing  more  remarkable  exposed  itself 
to    view    tlian   an    irritable   temper ;    serving 


48  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

perliap3  as  safety-valve  to  an  underlying  ex- 
plosive force,  which  (with  strong  enough  temp- 
tation and  sufficient  opportunity)  might  yet 
break  out. 

'  Gently,  Mr.  Le  Frank !     The  tea  i^  hot 

you  may  burn  your  mouth.  How  am  I  to  tell 
you  what  has  happened  ? '  Miss  Minerva 
dropped  the  playfully  provocative  tone,  with 
infinite  tact,  exactly  at  the  right  moment. 
'  Just  imagine,'  she  resumed,  '  a  scene  on  the 
stage,  occurring  in  private  life.  The  lady  who 
fainted  at  your  concert,  turns  out  to  be  no  less 
a  person  than  Mrs.  Gallilee's  niece  ! ' 

The  general  folly  which  reads  a  prospectus 
and  blindly  speculates  in  shares,  is  matched  by 
the  equally  diffused  stupidity,  which  is  inca- 
pable of  discovering  that  there  can  be  any  pos- 
sible relation  between  fiction  and  truth.  Say 
it's  in  a  novel — and  you  are  a  fool  if  you 
believe  it.  Say  it's  in  a  newspaper — and  you 
are  a  fool  if  you    doubt   it.     Mr.  Le  Frank, 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  49 

following  the  general  example,  followed  it  on 
this  occasion  a  little  too  unreservedly.  He 
avowed  his  doubts  of  the  circumstance  just 
related,  although  it  was,  on  the  authority  of  a 
lady,  a  circumstance  occurring  in  real  life ! 
Far  from  being  offended.  Miss  Minerva 
cordially  sympathised  with  him. 

'  It  is  too  theatrical  to  be  believed,'  she 
admitted;  'but  this  fainting  young  person  is 
positively  the  interesting  stranger  we  have 
been  expecting  from  Italy.  You  know  Mrs. 
Gallilee.  Hers  was  the  first  smelhng-bottle 
produced ;  her's  "svas  the  presence  of  mind 
which  suggested  a  horizontal  position.  "  Help 
the  heart,"  she  said  ;  "  don't  impede  it."  Tlie 
whole  theory  of  fainting  fits,  in  six  words  !  In 
another  moment,'  proceeded  the  governess 
making  a  theatrical  point  without  suspectin'r  it 
— '  in  another  moment,  Mrs.  GalHlce  herself 
stood  in  need  of  the  smelling-bottle." 

VOL.  I.  E 


so  HEAR!  AND  SCIENCE. 

Mr.  Le  Frank  was  not  a  true  believer, 
even  yet.  '  You  don't  mean  she  fainted ! '  he 
said. 

Miss  Minerva  held  up  the  indicative  fore- 
finger, with  which  she  emphasised  instruction 
when  her  pupils  required  rousing.  '  j^Irs. 
Gallilee's  strength  of  mind — as  I  was  about  to 
say,  if  you  had  listened  to  me — resisted  the 
shock.  What  the  effort  must  have  cost  her 
you  will  presently  understand.  Oiu*  interesting 
young  lady  was  accompanied  by  a  hideous  old 
foreign  woman  who  completely  lost  her  head. 
She  smacked  her  hands  distractedly  ;  she  called 
on  the  saints  (without  producing  the  slightest 
effect) — but  she  mixed  up  a  name,  remarkable 
even  in  Italy,  with  the  rest  of  the  delirium ; 
and  that  was  serious.  Put  yourself  in  Mrs. 
Galhlee's  place — ' 

'  I  couldn't  do  it,'  said  Mr.  Le  Frank,  with 
humility. 

Miss  Minerva  passed  over  this  reply  Avithout 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  51 

notice.     Perhaps  she  was  not  a  behever  m  tlie 
ImiiiiHty  of  musicians. 

'  The  young  lady's  Christian  name,'  she 
proceeded,  '  is  Carmina ;  (put  the  accent,  if 
you  please,  on  the^ir^^  syllable).  The  moment 
Mrs.  Gallilee  heard  the  name,  it  struck  her 
like  a  blow.  She  enlightened  the  old  woman, 
and  asserted  herself  as  Miss  Carmina's  aunt  in 
an  instant.  *'  I  am  Mrs.  Gallilee  :  "  that  w^as 
all  she  said.  The  result  ' — ^]\iiss  Minerva 
paused,  and  pointed  to  the  ceihng  ;  '  the  result 
is  up  there.  Oin*  charming  guest  was  on  the 
sofa,  and  the  hideous  old  nurse  was  fanning 
her,  when  I  had  the  honour  of  seeing  them  just 
now.  No,  ^Ir.  Le  Frank !  I  haven't  done  yet. 
There  is  a  last  act  in  this  drama  of  private  life 
still  to  relate.  A  medical  gentleman  was 
present  at  the  concert,  who  offered  his  services 
in  reviving  Miss  Carmina.  The  same  gentle- 
man is  now  in  attendance  on  the  interesting 
patient.     Can  you  guess  who  he  is  ?  ' 


52  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

Mr.  Le  Frank  had  sold  a  ticket  for  his 
concert  to  the  medical  adviser  of  the  family — 
one  Mr.  Null.  A  cautious  guess  in  this  direc- 
tion seemed  to  offer  the  likeliest  chance  of 
success. 

'  He  is  a  patron  of  music,'  the  pianist  began. 

'  He  hates  music,'  the  governess  interposed. 

'  I  mean  Mr.  Null,'  Mr.  Le  Frank  persisted. 

'  /  mean — '  Miss  Minerva  paused  (hke  the 
cat  with  the  mouse  again  !) — '  /mean,  Mr.  Ovid 
Vere.' 

What  form  the  music-master's  astonishment 
might  have  assumed  may  be  matter  for 
speculation,  it  was  never  destined  to  become 
matter  of  fact.  At  the  moment  when  Miss 
Minerva  overwhelmed  him  with  the  climax  of 
her  story,  a  little,  rosy,  elderly  gentleman,  with 
a  round  face,  a  sweet  smile,  and  a  curly  gray 
head,  walked  into  the  room,  accompanied  by 
two  girls.  Persons  of  small  importance — only 
Mr.  Gallilee  and  his  daughters. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  53 

'  How  d'ye-do,  Mr.  Le  Frank.  I  hope  you 
got  plenty  of  money  by  the  concert.  I  gave 
away  my  own  two  tickets.  You  will  excuse 
me,  I'm  siu-e.  Music,  I  can't  think  why,  always 
sends  me  to  sleep.  Here  are  your  two  pupils, 
Miss  Minerva,  safe  and  sound.  It  struck  me 
we  were  rather  in  the  way,  when  that  sweet 
young  creature  was  brought  home.  Sadly  in 
want  of  quiet,  poor  thing — not  in  want  of 
us  Mrs.  Gallilee  and  Ovid,  so  clever  and 
attentive,  were  just  the  right  people  in  the 
right  place.  So  I  put  on  my  hat — I'm  always 
available,  Mr.  Le  Frank ;  I  have  the  great 
advantage  of  never  having  anything  to  do — and 
I  said  to  the  girls,  "  Let's  have  a  walk."  We  had 
no  particular  place  to  go  to — that's  another 
advantage  of  mine — so  we  drifted  about.  I 
didn't  mean  it,  but,  somehow  or  other,  we 
stopped  at  a  pastry-cook's  shop.  What  was 
the  name  of  the  pastry-cook  ?  ' 

So  far  Mr.  Gallilee  proceeded,  speaking  in 


54  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

the  oddest  self-contradictory  voice,  if  such  a 
description  is  permissible — a  voice  at  once  high 
in  pitch  and  mild  in  tone :  in  short,  as  Mr.  Le 
Frank  once  professionally  remarked,  a  soft 
falsetto.  When  the  good  gentleman  paused  to 
make  his  little  effort  of  memory,  his  eldest 
daughter — aged  twelve,  and  always  ready  to 
distinguish  herself — saw  her  opportunity,  and 
took  the  rest  of  the  narrative  into  her  own  hands. 
Miss  Maria,  named  after  her  mother,  was 
one  of  the  successfid  new  products  of  the  age 
we  live  in — the  conventionally-charming  child 
(who  has  never  been  smacked) ;  possessed  of 
the  large  round  eyes  that  we  see  in  pictures, 
and  the  sweet  manners  and  perfect  principles 
that  w^e  read  of  in  books.  She  called  every- 
body '  dear ; '  she  knew  to  a  nicety  how  much 
oxygen  she  wanted  in  the  composition  of  her 
native  nir ;  nnd — alas,  poor  wretch  ! — she  had 
never  wetted  her  shoes  or  dirtied  her  face  since 
tlie  day  when  she  was  born. 


-  HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  55 

*  Dear  Miss  Minerva,'  said  Maria,  '  the 
pastry-cook's  name  was  Timbal.  We  have  had 
ices.' 

His  mind   beini^  now  set  at  rest  on   the 

o 

subject  of  the  pastry-cook,  Mr.  Galhlee  turned 
to  liis  youngest  daughter — aged  ten,  and  one 
of  the  unsuccessful  products  of  the  age  we  live 
in.  This  was  a  curiously  slow,  quaint,  self- 
contained  child ;  the  image  of  her  fatlier,  with 
an  occasional  reflection  of  his  smile ;  incurably 
stupid,  or  incurably  perverse — the  friends  of 
the  family  were  not  quite  sure  which.  Whether 
she  might  have  been  over-crammed  with  use- 
less knowledge,  was  not  a  question  in  con- 
nection with  the  subject  which  occurred  to 
anybody. 

'  Kouse  yourself,  Zo,'  said  Mr.  Gallilee. 
*  What  did  we  have  besides  ices  ?  ' 

Zoe  (known  to  her  father,  by  vulgar 
abbreviation,  as  '  Zo ')  took  Mr.  Galhlee's 
stumpy  red  hand,  and  held  liard  by  it  as  if 


S6  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

that  was  the  one  way  in  which  a  dull  child 
could  rouse  herself,  with  a  prospect  of  success. 

'  I've  had  so  many  of  them,'  she  said ; 
'  I  don't  know.     Ask  Maria.' 

Maria  responded  with  the  sweetest  readi- 
ness. '  Dear  Zoe,  you  are  so  slow  !  Cheese- 
cakes.' 

Mr.  Gallilee  patted  Zoe's  head  as  en- 
couragingly as  if  she  had  discovered  the  right 
answer  by  herself.  '  That's  right — ices  and 
cheese-cakes,'  he  said.  '  We  tried  cream- ice, 
and  then  we  tried  water-ice.  The  cliildren, 
Miss  Minerva,  preferred  the  cream-ice.  And, 
do  you  know,  I'm  of  their  opinion.  There's 
something  in  a  cream-ice — what  do  you  think 
yourself  of  cream-ices,  Mr.  Le  Frank  ? ' 

It  was  one  among  the  many  weaknesses  of 
Mr.  Gallilee's  character  to  be  incapable  of 
opening  his  lips  without,  sooner  or  later, 
taking  somebody  into  his  confidence.  In  the 
merest  trifles,  he  instinctively  invited  sympathy 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  57 

and  agreement  from  any  person  within  liis 
reach — from  a  total  stranger  quite  as  readily 
as  from  an  intimate  friend.  Mi-.  Le  Frank,  re- 
presenting the  present  Court  of  Social  Appeal, 
attempted  to  deliver  judgment  on  the  question 
of  ices,  and  was  interrupted  without  ceremony 
by  Miss  Minerva.  She,  too,  had  been  waiting 
lier  opportunity  to  speak,  and  she  now  took  it 
— not  amiably. 

'  With  all  possible  respect,  Mr.  Galhlee,  I 
venture  to  entreat  that  you  will  be  a  little 
more  thoughtful,  where  the  children  are  con- 
cerned. I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Le  Frank, 
for  interrupting  you — but  it  is  really  a  little 
too  hard  on  Me.  I  am  held  responsible  for 
the  health  of  these  girls ;  I  am  blamed  over 
and  over  again,  when  it  is  not  my  fault,  for 
irregularities  in  their  diet — and  there  they  are, 
at  this  moment,  chilled  with  ices  and  cloyed 
with  cakes !     What  will  Mrs.  Gallilee  say?  ' 

'  Don't  tell  her,'  Mr.  Gallilee  suggested. 


58  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

'  The  girls  will  be  thirsty  for  the  rest  of  the 
evening,'  Miss  Minerva  persisted ;  'the  girls 
will  have  no  appetite  for  the  last  meal  before 
bedtime.  And  their  mother  will  ask  Me  what 
it  means.' 

'  My  good  creature,'  cried  Mr.  Gallilee, 
'  don't  be  afraid  of  the  girls'  appetites  !  Take 
off  their  hats,  and  give  them  something  nice  for 
supper.  They  inherit  my  stomach,  Miss  Minerva 
— and  they'll  "  tuck  in,"  as  we  used  to  say  at 
school.  Did  they  say  so  in  your  time,  Mr.  Le 
Frank?' 

Mrs.  Galhlee's  governess  and  vulgar  expres- 
sions were  anomalies  never  to  be  reconciled, 
under  any  circumstances.  Miss  Minerva  took 
off  the  hats  in  stern  silence.  Even  'Papa' 
might  have  seen  the  contempt  in  her  face,  if 
she  had  not  managed  to  hide  it  in  this  way,  by 
means  of  the  girls. 

In  the  silence  that  ensued,  Mr.  Le  Frank 
had  his  chance  of  speaking,  and  showed  himself 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  59 

to  be  a  gentleman  with  a  happily-balanced 
character — a  musician,  with  an  eye  to  business. 
Using  gratitude  to  Mr.  Gallilee  as  a  means  of 
persuasion,  he  gently  pushed  the  interests  of  a 
friend  who  was  giving  a  concert  next  week. 
'  We  poor  artists  have  our  faults,  my  dear  sir  ; 
but  we  are  all  earnest  in  helping  each  other. 
My  friend  sang  for  nothing  at  my  concert. 
Don't  suppose  for  a  moment  that  he  expects  it 
of  me  !  But  I  am  going  to  play  for  nothing 
at  his  concert.  May  I  appeal  to  your  kind 
patronage  to  take  two  tickets  ? '  The  reply 
ended  appropriately  in  musical  sound — a  golden 
tinkling,  in  Mr.  Le  Frank's  pocket. 

Having  paid  his  tribute  to  art  and  artists, 
Mr.  Gallilee  looked  furtively  at  Miss  Minerva. 
On  the  wise  principle  of  letting  well  alone,  he 
perceived  that  tlie  happy  time  had  arrived  for 
leaving  the  room.  How  was  he  to  make  his 
exit?  He  prided  himself  on  his  readiness  of 
resource,  in  difficulties  of  this  sort,  and  he  was 


6o  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

equal  to  the   occasion  as   usual — he   said   he 
would  go  to  his  club. 

'  We  really  have  a  capital  smoking-room  at 
that  club,'  he  said.  '  I  do  like  a  good  cigar ; 
and — what  do  you  think,  Mr.  Le  Frank? — 
isn't  a  pint  of  champagne  nice  drinking,  this 
hot  weather?  Just  cooled  with  ice — I  don't 
know  whether  you  feel  the  weather,  Miss 
Minerva,  as  I  do  ? — and  poured,  fizzing,  into  a 
silver  mug.  Lord,  how  delicious !  Good-bye, 
girls.     Give  me  a  kiss  before  I  go.' 

Maria  led  the  way,  as  became  the  elder. 
She  not  only  gave  the  kiss,  but  threw  an 
appropriate  sentiment  into  the  bargain.  '  I 
do  love  you,  dear  papa ! '  said  this  perfect 
daughter  —  with  a  look  in  Miss  Minerva's 
direction,  which  might  have  been  a  malicious 
look  in  any  eyes  but  Maria's. 

Mr.  Gallilee  turned  to  his  youngest  child. 
'  Well,  Zo — what  do  you  say  ? ' 

Zo  took  her  father's  hand  once  more,  and 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  6i 

rubbed  her  head  against  it  hke  a  cat.  This 
new  method  of  expressing  fiUal  affection  seemed 
to  interest  Mr.  GalUlee.  'Does  your  head  itch, 
my  dear?'  he  asked.  The  idea  was  new  to 
Zo.  She  brightened,  and  looked  at  her  father 
with  a  sly  smile.  '  Why  do  you  do  it  ?  '  Miss 
Minerva  asked  sharply.  Zo  clouded  over 
again,  and  answered,  'I  don't  know.'  Mr. 
Gallilee  rewarded  her  with  a  kiss,  and  went 
away  to  champagne  and  the  club. 

Mr.  Le  Frank  left  the  schoolroom  next.  He 
paid  the  governess  the  compliment  of  reverting 
to  her  narrative  of  events  at  the  concert. 

*  I  am  greatly  struck,'  he  said,  '  by  what 
you  told  me  about  Mr.  Ovid  Vera.  We  may, 
perhaps,  have  misjudged  him,  in  thinking  that 
he  doesn't  like  music.  His  coming  to  my 
concert  suggests  a  more  cheering  view.  Do 
you  think  there  would  be  any  impropriety  in 
my  calling  to  thank  him  ?  Perhaps  it  would 
be  better  if  I  wrote,  and  enclosed  two  tickets 


62  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

for  my  friend's  concert?  To  tell  you  the 
truth,  I've  pledged  myself  to  dispose  of  a 
certain  number  of  tickets.  My  friend  is  so 
much  in  request — it's  expecting  too  much  to 
ask  him  to  sing  for  nothing.  I  think  I'll  write. 
Good-evening  ! ' 

Left  alone  with  her  pupils,  Miss  Minerva 
looked  at  her  watch.  '  Prepare  your  lessons 
for  to-morrow,'  she  said. 

The  girls  produced  their  books.  Maria's 
library  of  knowledge  was  in  perfect  order. 
The  pages  over  which  Zo  pondered  in  endless 
perplexity  were  crumpled  by  weary  fingers, 
and  stained  by  frequent  tears.  Oh,  fatal  know- 
ledge !  mercifully  forbidden  to  the  first  two  of 
our  race,  who  shall  count  the  crimes  and 
stupidities  committed  in  your  name  ? 

Miss  Minerva  leaned  back  in  her  easy- 
chair.  Her  mind  was  occupied  by  the  mys- 
terious question  of  Ovid's  presence  at  the 
concert.     She   raised   her   keenly   penetrating 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  63 

eyes   to   the   ceiling,   and  listened   for  sounds 
from  above. 

*  I  wonder,'  slie  thouglit  to  herself,  '  what 
they  are  doing  upstairs  ?  ' 


64  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Mrs.  Gallilee  was  as  complete  a  mistress  of 
the  practice  of  domestic  virtue  as  of  the  theory 
of  acoustics  and  fainting  fits.  At  dressing  with 
taste,  and  ordering  dinners  with  invention ;  at 
heading  her  table  gracefully,  and  making  her 
guests  comfortable;  at  managing  refractory 
servants  and  detecting  dishonest  tradespeople, 
she  was  the  equal  of  the  least  intellectual 
woman  that  ever  lived.  Her  preparations  for 
the  reception  of  her  niece  were  finished  in 
advance,  without  an  oversight  in  the  smallest 
detail.  Carmina's  inviting  bedroom,  in  blue, 
opened  into  Carmina's  irresistible  sitting-room, 
in  brown.  The  ventilation  was  aiTanged,  the 
licfht   and   shade   were   disposed,   the    flowers 


HEART  AND   SCIENCE.  65 

were  attractively  placed,  under  Mrs.  Gallilee's 
infallible  superintendence.  Before  Carmina 
liad  recovered  her  senses  she  was  provided 
with  a  second  mother,  who  played  the  part  to 
perfection. 

The  four  persons,  now  assembled  in  the 
pretty  sitting-room  upstairs,  were  in  a  position 
of  insupportable  embarrassment  towards  each 
other. 

Finding  her  son  at  a  concert  (after  he  had 
told  her  that  he  hated  music)  Mrs.  GaUilee,  had 
first  discovered  him  hurrying  to  the  assistance 
of  a  young  lady  in  a  swoon,  with  all  tlie 
anxiety  and  alarm  which  he  might  have  shown 
in  the  case  of  a  near  and  dear  friend.  And 
yet,  when  this  stranger  was  revealed  as  a  rela- 
tion, he  had  displayed  an  amazement  equal  to 
her  own!  What  explanation  could  reconcile 
such  contradictions  as  these  ? 

As  for  Carmina,  her  conduct  comphcated 
the  mystery. 

VOL.  I.  F 


66  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

What  was  she  doing  at  a  concert,  when 
she  ought  to  have  been  on  her  way  to  her 
aunt's  house  ?  Why,  if  she  must  faint  when 
the  hot  room  had  not  overpowered  anyone 
else,  had  she  failed  to  recover  in  the  usual 
way  ?  There  she  lay  on  the  sofa,  alternately 
flushing  and  turning  pale  when  she  was  spoken 
to ;  ill  at  ease  in  the  most  comfortable  house  in 
London  ;  timid  and  confused  under  the  care 
of  her  best  friends.  Making  all  allowance  for 
a  sensitive  temperament,  could  a  long  joiurney 
from  Italy,  and  a  childish  fright  at  seeing  a 
dog  run  over,  account  for  such  a  state  of 
things  as  this  ? 

Annoyed  and  perplexed — but  yet  far  too 
prudent  to  commit  herself  ignorantly  to  in- 
quiries which  might  lead  to  future  embarrass- 
ment— Mrs.  Gallilee  tried  suggestive  small  talk 
as  a  means  of  enlightenment.  The  wrinkled 
duenna,  sitting  miserably  on  satin  supported 
by  frail  gilt  legs,  seemed  to  take  her  tone  of 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  67 

feeling  from  her  youug  mistress,  exactly  as  she 
took  her  orders.  Mrs.  Gallilee  spoke  to  her  in 
English,  and  spoke  to  her  in  Italian — and 
could  make  nothing  of  the  experiment  in 
either  case.  The  Avild  old  creature  seemed  to 
be  afraid  to  look  at  her. 

Ovid  himself  proved  to  be  just  as  difficult 
to  fathom,  in  another  way. 

He  certainly  answered  when  his  mother 
spoke  to  him,  but  always  briefly,  and  in  the 
same  absent  tone.  He  asked  no  questions,  and 
offered  no  explanations.  The  sense  of  embar- 
rassment, on  his  side,  had  produced  unaccount- 
able changes.  He  showed  the  needful  attention 
to  Carmina,  with  a  silent  gentleness  which 
presented  him  in  a  new  character.  His 
customary  manner  with  ailing  persons,  women 
as  well  as  men,  was  rather  abrupt :  his  quick 
perception  hurried  him  mto  taking  the  words 
out  of  their  mouths  (too  pleasantly  to  give 
offence)  when  they  were  describing  their 
p  2 


68  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

symptoms.  There  he  sat  now,  contemplating 
his  pale  little  cousin,  with  a  patient  attention 
wonderful  to  see  ;  listening  to  the  common- 
place words  which  dropped  at  intervals  from 
her  lips,  as  if — in  his  state  of  health,  and  with 
the  doubtful  prospect  which  it  implied — there 
were  no  serious  interests  to  occupy  his  mind. 

Mrs.  Galhlee  could  endure  it  no  longer. 

If  she  had  not  dehberately  starved  her 
imagination,  and  emptied  her  heart  of  any 
tenderness  of  feeling  which  it  might  once  have 
possessed,  her  son's  odd  behaviour  would  have 
interested  instead  of  perplexing  her.  As  it 
was,  her  scientific  education  left  her  as  com- 
pletely in  the  dark,  where  questions  of  senti- 
ment were  concerned,  as  if  her  experience  of 
humanity,  in  its  relation  to  love,  had  been 
experience  in  the  cannibal  islands.  She 
decided  on  leaving  her  niece  to  repose,  and  on 
taking  her  son  away  with  her. 

'  In  your  present  state  of  health,  Ovid,'  she 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  69 

began,  *  Carmina  must  not  accept  your  profes- 
sional advice.' 

Something  in  those  words  stung  Ovid's 
temper. 

'  My  professional  advice  ?  '  he  repeated. 
'  You  talk  as  if  she  was  seriously  ill ! ' 

Carmina's  sweet  smile  stopped  him  there. 

'We  don't  know  what  may  happen,'  she 
said,  playfully. 

'  God  forbid  tliat  should  happen ! '  He 
spoke  so  fervently  that  the  women  all  looked  at 
him  in  surprise. 

Mrs.  Gallilee  turned  to  her  niece,  and 
proceeded  quietly  with  what  she  had  to  say. 

'  Ovid  is  so  sadly  overworked,  my  dear, 
that  I  actually  rejoice  in  his  giving  up  practice, 
and  going  away  from  us  to-morrow.  We  will 
leave  you  for  the  present  with  your  old  friend. 
Pray  ring,  if  you  want  anything.'  She  kissed 
her  hand  to  Carmina,  and,  beckoning  to  her 
son,  advanced  towards  the  door. 


70  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

Teresa  looked  at  lier,  and  suddenly  looked 
away  again.  Mrs.  Gallilee  stopped  on  her 
way  out,  at  a  chiffonier,  and  altered  the 
arrangement  of  some  of  the  china  on  it.  The 
duenna  followed  on  tiptoe — folded  her  thumb 
and  two  middle  fingers  into  the  palm  of  her 
hand — and,  stretching  out  the  forefinger  and 
the  little  finger,  touched  Mrs.  Galhlee  on  the 
back,  so  softly  that  she  was  unaware  of  it. 
'  The  Evil  Eye,'  Teresa  whispered  to  herself  in 
Italian,  as  she  stole  back  to  her  place. 

Ovid  lingered  near  his  cousin  :  neither  of 
them  had  seen  what  Teresa  had  done.  He 
rose  reluctantly  to  go.  Feeling  his  little  atten- 
tions gratefully,  Carmina  checked  him  with 
innocent  familiarity  as  he  left  his  chair.  '  I 
must  thank  you,'  she  said,  simply ;  *  it  seems 
hard  indeed  that  you,  who  cure  others,  should 
suffer  from  illness  yourself.' 

Teresa,  watching  them  with  interest,  came 
a  little  nearer. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  71 

She  could  now  examine  Ovid's  face  with 
close  and  jealous  scrutiny.  Mrs.  Gallilee  re- 
minded her  son  that  she  was  waiting  for  him. 
He  had  some  last  words  yet  to  say.  The 
duenna  drew  back  from  the  sofa,  still  looking 
at  Ovid :  she  muttered  to  herself,  '  Holy 
Teresa,  my  patroness,  show  me  that  man's  soul 
in  his  face ! '  At  last,  Ovid  took  his  leave. 
'  I  shall  call  and  see  how  you  are  to-morrow,' 
he  said,  '  before  I  go.'  He  nodded  kindly  to 
Teresa.  Instead  of  being  satisfied  with  that 
act  of  courtesy,  slie  wanted  something  more. 
*  May  I  shake  hands?'  she  asked.  Mrs. 
Galhlee  was  a  Liberal  in  politics  ;  never  had 
her  principles  been  tried,  as  they  were  tried 
when  she  heard  those  words.  Teresa  wrung 
Ovid's  hand  with  tremulous  energy — still  intent 
on  reading  his  character  in  his  face.  He  asked 
her,  smiling,  what  she  saw  to  interest  her.  '  A 
good  man,  I  hope,'  she  answered,  sternly. 
Carmina    and    Ovid    were    amused.      Teresa 


72  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

rebuked  them,  as  if  they  had  been  children. 
'  Laugh  at  some  fitter  time,'  she  said, '  not  now.' 

Descending  the  stairs,  Mrs.  Gallilee  and 
Ovid  met  the  footman.  '  Mr.  Mool  is  in  the 
library,  ma'am,'  the  man  said. 

'  Have  you  anything  to  do,  Ovid,  for  the 
next  half-hour  ?  '  his  mother  asked. 

'  Do  you  wish  me  to  see  Mr.  Mool  ?  If  it's 
law-business,  I  am  afraid  I  shall  not  be  of 
much  use.' 

'  The  lawyer  is  here  by  appointment,  with 
a  copy  of  your  late  uncle's  Will,'  Mrs.  Gallilee 
answered.  '  You  may  have  some  interest  in  it. 
I  think  you  ought  to  hear  it  read.' 

Ovid  showed  no  inclination  to  adopt  this 
proposal.  He  asked  an  idle  question.  '  I 
heard  of  their  finding  the  Will — are  there  any 
romantic  circumstances  ? ' 

Mrs.  Gallilee  surveyed  her  son  with  an  ex- 
pression of  good-humoured  contempt.  '  What 
a  boy  you  are,   in  some  things!     Have   you 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  73 

been  reading  a  novel  lately  ?  My  dear,  when 
the  people  in  Italy  made  up  their  minds,  at 
last,  to  have  the  furniture  in  your  uncle's  room 
taken  to  pieces,  they  found  the  "Will.  It  had 
slipped  behind  a  drawer,  in  a  rotten  old 
cabinet,  full  of  useless  papers.  Nothing  ro- 
mantic (thank  God!),  and  nothing  (as  Mr. 
Mool's  letter  tells  me)  that  can  lead  to  mis- 
understandings or  disputes.' 

Ovid's  indifference  was  not  to  be  conquered. 
He  left  it  to  his  mother  to  send  him  word  if  he 
had  a  legacy.  '  I  am  not  as  much  interested 
in  it  as  you  are,'  he  explained.  'Plenty  of 
money  left  to  you,  of  course  ?  '  He  was  evi- 
dently thinking  all  the  time  of  something  else. 

Mrs.  GalHlee  stopped  in  the  hall,  with  an 
air  of  downright  alarm. 

'  Your  mind  is  in  a  dreadful  state,'  she  said. 
'HaVe  you  really  forgotten  what  I  told  you, 
only  yesterday  ?  The  Will  appoints  me  Car- 
mina's  guardian.' 


74  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

He  had  plainly  forgotten  it — lie  started, 
when  his  mother  recalled  the  circumstance. 
'  Curious,'  he  said  to  himself,  '  that  I  was  not 
reminded  of  it,  when  I  saw  Carmina's  rooms 
prepared  for  her.'  His  mother,  anxiously  look- 
ing at  him,  observed  that  his  face  brightened 
when  he  spoke  of  Carmina.  He  suddenly 
changed  his  mind. 

'  Make  allowances  for  an  overworked  man,' 
he  said  '  You  are  quite  right.  I  ought  to 
hear  the  Will  read — I  am  at  your  service.' 

Even  Mrs.  Gallilee  now  drew  the  rioht 
inference  at  last.  She  made  no  remark. 
Something  seemed  to  move  feebly  under  her 
powder  and  paint.  Soft  emotion  trying  to  find 
its  way  to  the  surface  ?     Impossible  ! 

As  they  entered  the  library  together.  Miss 
Minerva  returned  to  the  schoolroom.  She  had 
lingered  on  the  upper  landing,  and  had  heard 
the  conversation  between  mother  and  sou. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  75 


CHAPTEK   yil. 

The  library  at  Fairfield  Gardens  possessed 
two  special  attractions,  besides  the  books.  It 
opened  into  a  large  conservatory ;  and  it  was 
adorned  by  an  admirable  portrait  of  Mrs. 
Gallilee,  painted  by  her  brother. 

"Waiting  the  appearance  of  the  fair  original, 
Mr.  Mool  looked  at  the  portrait,  and  then  men- 
tally reviewed  the  history  of  Mrs.  Gallilee's 
family.  What  he  did  next,  no  person  ac- 
quainted with  the  habits  of  lawyers  will  be 
weak  enough  to  believe.     Mr.  Mool  blushed. 

Is  this  the  language  of  exaggeration,  de- 
scribing a  human  anomaly  on  the  roll  of  attor- 
neys? The  fact  shall  be  left  to  answer  the 
question.     Mr.  Mool  had  made  a  mistake  in 


76  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

his  choice  of  a  profession.     The  result  of  the 
mistake  was — a  shy  lawyer. 

Attended  by  such  circumstances  as  these, 
the  history  of  the  family  assumes,  for  the 
moment,  a  certain  im])ortance.  It  is  connected 
with  a  blushing  attorney.  It  will  explain  what 
happened  on  the  reading  of  the  Will.  And  it 
is  sure  beforehand  of  a  favourable  reception — 
for  it  is  all  about  money. 

Old  Robert  Graywell  began  life  as  the  son 
of  a  small  farmer.  He  was  generally  considered 
to  be  rather  an  eccentric  man ;  but  prospered, 
nevertheless,  as  a  merchant  in  the  city  of 
London.  When  he  retired  from  business,  he 
possessed  a  house  and  estate  in  the  country, 
and  a  handsome  fortune  safely  invested  in  the 
Funds. 

His  children  were  three  in  number  : — his 
son  Eobert,  and  his  daughters  Maria  and 
Susan. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  77 

The  death  of  liis  wife,  to  whom  he  was 
devotedly  attaclied,  was  the  first  serious 
calamity  of  his  hfe.  He  retired  to  his  estate  a 
soured  and  broken  man.  Loving  husbands  are 
not  always,  as  a  necessary  consequence,  tender 
fathers.  Old  Robert's  daughters  afforded  him 
no  consolation  on  their  mother's  death.  Their 
anxiety  about  their  mourning  dresses  so  dis- 
gusted him  that  he  kept  out  of  their  way. 
Xo  extraordinary  interest  was  connected  with 
their  prospects  in  life  :  they  w^ould  be  married 
— and  there  would  be  an  end  of  them.  As  for 
the  son,  he  had  long  since  placed  himself 
beyond  the  narrow  range  of  his  father's 
sympathies.  In  the  first  place,  his  refusal  to 
qualify  himself  for  a  mercantile  career  had 
made  it  necessary  to  dispose  of  the  business  to 
strangers.  In  the  second  place,  young  Eobert 
Gray  well  proved — without  any  hereditary 
influence,  and  in  the  face  of  the  strongest  dis- 
couragement— to  be  a  born  painter!     One  of 


78  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

the  greatest  artists  of  that  day  saw  the  boy's 
first  efforts,  and  pronounced  judgment  in  these 
plain  words  :  '  What  a  pity  he  has  not  got  his 
bread  to  earn  by  his  brush ! ' 

On  the  death  of  old  Eobert,  his  daughters 
found  themselves  (to  use  tlieir  own  expression) 
reduced  to  a  trumpery  legacy  of  ten  thousand 
pounds  each.  Their  brother  inherited  the 
estate,  and  the  bulk  of  the  property — not 
because  his  father  cared  about  founding  a 
family,  but  because  the  boy  had  always  been 
his  mother's  favourite. 

The  first  of  the  three  children  to  marry  was 
the  eldest  sister. 

Maria  considered  herself  fortunate  in  capti- 
vating Mr.  Vere — a  man  of  old  family,  with  a 
high  sense  of  what  lie  owed  to  his  name.  He 
had  a  sufficient  income,  and  he  wanted  no 
more.  His  wife's  dowry  was  settled  on  herself. 
When  he  died,  he  left  her  a  life-interest  in 
his  property  amounting  to  six  hundred  a  year. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  79 

This,  added  to  the  annual  proceeds  of  her  own 
little  fortune,  made  an  income  of  one  thousand 
pounds.  The  remainder  of  Mr.  Vere's  property- 
was  left  to  his  only  surviving  child,  Ovid. 

With  a  thousand  a  year  for  herself,  and 
with  two  thousand  a  year  for  her  son,  on  his 
coming  of  age,  the  widowed  Maria  might 
possibly  have  been  satisfied — but  for  the 
extraordinary  presumption  of  her  younger 
sister. 

Susan,  ranking  second  in  age,  ranked  second 
also  in  beauty ;  and  yet,  in  the  race  for  a 
husband,  Susan  won  the  prize ! 

Soon  after  her  sister's  marriage,  she  made  a 
conquest  of  a  Scotch  nobleman,  possessed  of  a 
palace  in  London,  and  a  palace  in  Scotland, 
and  a  rent-roll  of  forty  thousand  pounds. 
Maria,  to  use  her  own  expression,  never  re- 
covered it.  From  the  horrid  day  when  Susan 
became  Lady  Northlake,  Maria  became  a 
serious    woman.      All    her    earthly    interests 


8o  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

centred  now  in  the  cultivation  of  her  intellect. 
She  started  on  that  glorious  career,  Avhich 
associated  her  with  the  march  of  science.  In 
only  a  year  afterwards — as  an  example  of  the 
progress  which  a  resolute  woman  can  make — 
she  was  familiar  with  zoophyte  fossils,  and  had 
succeeded  in  dissecting  the  nervous  system  of  a 
bee. 

Was   there   no    counter-attraction   in    her 
jmarried  life  ? 

Very  little.  Mr.  Yere  felt  no  sympathy 
with  his  wife's  scientific  pursuits.  On  her 
husband's  death,  did  she  find  no  consolation 
in  her  son  ?  Let  her  speak  for  herself.  '  My 
son  fills  my  heart.  But  the  school,  the  uni- 
versity, and  the  hospital  have  all  in  turn  taken 
his  education  out  of  my  hands.  My  mind  must 
be  filled,  as  well  as  my  heart.'  She  seized  her 
exquisite  instruments,  and  returned  to  the 
nervous  system  of  the  bee. 

In   course   of  time,   Mr.   John   Gallilee — 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  8i 

*  drifting  about,'  us  lie  said  of  himself — drifted 
across  the  path  of  science. 

The  widowed  Mrs.  Vere  (as  exhibited  in 
public)  was  still  a  fine  woman.  Mr.  Gallilee 
admired  '  that  style ' ;  and  Mr.  Galhlee  had 
fifty  thousand  pounds.  Only  a  little  more,  to 
my  lord  and  my  lady,  than  one  year's  income. 
But,  invested  at  four  per  cent.,  it  added  an 
annual  two  thousand  pounds  to  Mrs.  Vere's 
annual  one  thousand.  Eesult,  three  thousand 
a  year,  encumbered  with  Mr.  Gallilee.  On 
reflection,  Mrs.  Vere  accepted  the  encumbrance 
— and  reaped  her  reward.  Susan  was  no 
longer  distinguished  as  the  sister  who  had  her 
dresses  made  in  Paris ;  and  Mrs.  Gallilee  was 
not  now  subjected  to  the  indignity  of  getting  a 
lift  in  Lady  Northlake's  carriage. 

What  was  the  history  of  Eobert,  during 
this  interval  of  time  ?  In  two  words,  Eobert 
disgraced  himself. 

Taking  possession  of  his  country  house,  the 

VOL.  I.  G 


fe  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

new  squire  was  invited  to  contribute  towards 
the  expense  of  a  pack  of  hounds  kept  by  sub- 
scription in  the  neighboiurhood,  and  was  advised 
to  make  acquaintance  with  his  fellow-sportsmen 
by  giving  a  hunt-breakfast.  He  answered  very 
poHtely  ;  but  the  fact  was  not  to  be  concealed — 
the  new  man  refused  to  encourage  hunting  :  he 
thought  that  noble  amusement  stupid  and  cruel. 
For  the  same  reason,  he  refused  to  preserve 
game.  A  last  mistake  was  left  to  make,  and 
he  made  it.  After  returning  the  rector's  visit, 
he  failed  to  appear  at  church.  No  person 
with  the  smallest  knowledge  of  the  English 
character,  as  exhibited  in  an  English  county, 
will  fail  to  foresee  that  Eobert's  residence  on 
his  estate  was  destined  to  come,  sooner  or  later, 
to  an  untimely  end.  When  he  had  finished 
his  sketches  of  the  picturesque  aspects  of  his 
landed  property,  he  disappeared.  The  estate 
was  not  entailed.  Old  Eobert — who  had  in- 
sisted on  the  minutest  formalities  and  details  in 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  83 

providing  for  liis  dearly-loved  wife — was  im 
penetrably  careless  about  the  future  of  his 
children.  'My  fortune  has  no  value  now  in 
my  eyes,'  he  said  to  judicious  friends ;  '  let 
them  run  through  it  all,  if  they  please.  It 
would  do  them  a  deal  of  good  if  they  were 
obliged  to  earn  their  own  living,  like  better 
people  than  themselves.'  Left  free  to  take  his 
own  way,  Eobert  sold  the  estate  merely  to  get 
rid  of  it.  With  no  expensive  tastes,  except  the 
taste  for  buying  pictures,  he  became  a  riclier 
man  than  ever. 

When  their  brother  next  communicated 
with  them,  Lady  Northlake  and  Mrs.  Gallilee 
heard  of  him  as  a  voluntary  exile  in  Italy.  He 
was  building  a  studio  and  a  gallery;  he  was 
contemplating  a  series  of  pictures  ;  and  he  was 
a  happy  man  for  the  first  time  in  his  life. 

Another  interval  passed — and  the  sisters 
heard  of  Eobert  again. 

Having  already  outraged  the  sense  of  pro- 
a2 


84  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

priety  among  his  English  neighbours,  he  now 
degraded  himself  in  the  estimation  of  his  family, 
by  marrying  a  '  model.'  The  letter  announcing 
this  event  declared,  with  perfect  truth,  that 
he  had  chosen  a  virtuous  woman  for  his  wife. 
She  sat  to  artists,  as  any  lady  might  sit  to  any 
artist, '  for  the  head  only.'  Her  parents  gained 
a  bare  subsistence  by  farming  their  own  little 
morsel  of  land ;  they  w^ere  honest  people — and 
what  did  brother  Robert  care  for  rank  ?  His 
own  grandfather  had  been  a  farmer. 

Lady  Northlake  and  Mrs.  Gallilee  felt  it 
due  to  themselves  to  hold  a  consultation,  on  the 
subject  of  their  sister-in-law.  Was  it  desirable, 
in  their  own  social  interests,  to  cast  Eobert  off 
f'rom  that  moment  ? 

Susan  (previously  advised  by  her  kind- 
hearted  husband)  leaned  to  the  side  of  mercy. 
Robert's  letter  informed  them  that  he  proposed 
to  live,  and  die,  in  Italy.  If  he  held  to  this 
resolution,  his  marriage  would  surely  be  an  en- 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  85 

durable  misfortune  to  his  relatives  in  London. 
'  Suppose  we  write  to  him,'  Susan  concluded, 
'  and  say  we  are  surprised,  but  we  have  no 
doubt  he  knows  best.  We  offer  our  congratu- 
lations to  Mrs.  Eobert,  and  our  sincere  wishes 
for  his  happiness.' 

To  Lady  Northlake's  astonishment  Mrs. 
Gallilee  adopted  this  indulgent  point  of  view, 
without  a  word  of  protest.  She  had  her  reasons 
— but  they  were  not  producible  to  a  relative 
whose  husband  had  forty  thousand  a  year. 
Eobert  had  paid  her  debts. 

An  income  of  three  thousand  pounds,  even 
in  these  days,  represents  a  handsome  com- 
petence— provided  you  don't  'owe  a  duty  to 
society.'  In  Mrs.  Gallilee's  position,  an  income 
of  three  thousand  pounds  represented  genteel 
poverty.  She  was  getting  into  debt  again  ;  and 
she  was  meditating  future  designs  on  her 
brother's  purse.  A  charmhig  letter  to  Eobert 
was  the  result.     It  ended  with,  '  Do  send  me  a 


86  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

photograph  of  your  lovely  wife  ! '  When  the 
poor  '  model '  died,  not  many  years  afterwards, 
leaving  one  little  daughter,  Mrs.  Galilee  im- 
plored her  brother  to  return  to  England. 
'  Come,  dearest  Kobert,  and  find  consolation 
and  a  home,  under  the  roof  of  your  aflfectionate 
Maria.' 

But  Eobert  remained  in  Italy,  and  was 
buried  in  Italy.  At  the  date  of  his  death,  he 
had  three  times  paid  his  elder  sister's  debts. 
On  every  occasion  when  he  helped  her  in 
this  liberal  way,  she  proved  her  gratitude  by 
anticipating  a  larger,  and  a  larger,  and  a  larger 
legacy  if  she  outlived  him. 

Knowing  (as  the  family  lawyer)  what  sums 
of  money  Mrs.  Gallilee  had  extracted  from  her 
brother,  Mr,  Mool  also  knew  that  the  advances 
thus  made  had  been  considered  as  representing 
the  legacy,  to  which  she  might  otherwise  have 
had  some  sisterly  claim.  It  was  his  duty  to 
have  warned  her  of  this,  when  she  questioned 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  ^ 

him  generally  on  the  subject  of  the  Will ;  and 
he  had  said  nothing  about  it,  acting  under  a 
most  unbecoming  motive — in  plain  words,  the 
motive  of  fear.  From  the  self-reproachful 
feeling  that  now  disturbed  him,  had  risen  that 
wonderful  blush  which  made  its  appearance  on 
Mr.  Mool's  countenance.  He  was  actually 
ashamed  of  himself.  After  all,  is  it  too  much 
to  have  suggested  that  he  was  a  human  anomaly 
on  the  roll  of  attorneys  ? 


88  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Mrs.  Gallilee  made  her  appearance  in  the 
library — and  Mr.  Mool's  pulse  accelerated  its 
beat.  Mrs.  Gallilee's  son  followed  her  into  the 
room — and  Mr.  Mool's  pulse  steadied  itself 
again.  By  special  arrangement  with  the  law- 
yer, Ovid  had  been  always  kept  in  igno- 
rance of  his  mother's  affairs.  No  matter 
how  angry  she  might  be  in  the  course  of 
the  next  few  minutes,  she  could  hardly 
express  her  indignation  in  the  presence  of 
her  son. 

Joyous  anticipation  has  the  happiest  effect 
on  female  beauty.  Mrs.  Galhlee  looked  re- 
markably well,  that  day.  Having  rather  a 
round  and  full  face,  she  wore  her  hair  (coloured 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  89 

from  youthful  nature)  in  a  fringe  across  her 
forehead,  balanced  on  either  side  by  clusters 
of  charming  little  curls.  Her  mourning  for 
Eobert  was  worthy  of  its  Parisian  origin ;  it 
showed  to  perfect  advantage  the  bloom  of  her 
complexion  and  the  whiteness  of  her  neck — 
also  worthy  of  tlieiv  Parisian  origin.  She 
looked  like  a  portrait  of  the  period  of  Charles 
the  Second,  endowed  with  life. 

'  And  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Mool  ?    Have 
you  been  looking  at  my  ferns  ?  ' 

The  ferns  were  grouped  at  the  entrance, 
leading  from  the  hbrary  to  the  conservatory. 
Tliey  had  certainly  not  escaped  the  notice  of 
the  lawyer,  who  possessed  a  hot-house  of  his 
own,  and  who  was  an  enthusiast  in  botany. 
It  now  occurred  to  him — if  he  innocently  pro- 
voked embarrassing  results — that  ferns  might 
be  turned  to  useful  and  harmless  account  as  a 
means  of  introducing  a  change  of  subject. 
'  Even  when  she  hasn't  spoken  a  word,'  thought 


90  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

Mr.  Mool,  consulting  liis  recollections,  '  I 
have  felt  her  eyes  go  through  me  like  a 
knife.' 

'  Spare  us  the  technicalities,  please,'  Mrs. 
Gallilee  continued,  pointing  to  the  documents 
on  the  table.  '  I  want  to  be  exactly  acquainted 
with  the  duties  I  owe  to  Carmina.  And,  by 
the  way,  I  naturally  feel  some  interest  in  know- 
ing whether  Lady  Northlake  has  any  place  in 
the  WiU.' 

Mrs.  Gallilee  never  said  'my  sister,'  never 
spoke  in  the  family  circle  of  '  Susan.'  The  in- 
exhaustible sense  of  injury,  aroused  by  that 
magnificent  marriage,  asserted  itself  in  keeping 
her  sister  at  the  full  distance  implied  by  never 
forgetting  her  title. 

'  The  first  legacy  mentioned  in  the  Will,' 
said  Mr.  Mool,  is  a  legacy  to  Lady  Northlake.' 
Mrs.  Gallilee's  face  turned  as  hard  as  iron. 
'  One  hundred  pounds,'  Mr.  Mool  continued, 
'  to  buy  a  mourning  ring.'    Mrs.  Gallilee's  eyes 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  91 

became  eloquent  in  an  instant,  and  said  as  if 
in  words,  '  Thank  Heaven ! ' 

'  So  like  yorn:  uncle's  unpretending  good 
sense,'  she  remarked  to  her  son.  '  Any  other 
legacy  to  Lady  Northlake  would  have  been 
simply  absurd.  Yes,  Mr.  Mool  ?  Perhaps  my 
name  follows  ? ' 

Mr.  Mool  cast  a  side-look  at  the  ferns.  He 
afterwards  described  his  sensations  as  reminding 
him  of  previous  experience  in  a  dentist's  chair, 
at  the  awful  moment  when  the  operator 
says  '  Let  me  look,'  and  has  his  devilish 
instrument  hidden  in  his  hand.  The  '  situa- 
tion,' to  use  the  language  of  the  stage,  was 
indeed  critical  enough  already.  Ovid  added 
to  the  horror  of  it  by  making  a  feeble 
joke.  '  What  ^vill  you  take  for  your  chance, 
mother  ?  ' 

Before  bad  became  worse,  Mr.  Mool  sum- 
moned the  energy  of  despair.  He  wisely  read 
the  exact  words  of  the  Will,  this  time :  '  "  And  I 


92  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

give  and  bequeath  to  my  sister,  Mrs.  Maria 
Gallilee,  one  hundred  pounds." ' 

Ovid's  astonishment  could  only  express  it- 
self in  action.     He  started  to  his  feet. 

Mr.  Mool  went  on  reading.  '  "  Free  of  legacy 

duty,  to  buy  a  mourning  ring "  ' 

'  Impossible ! '  Ovid  broke  out. 
Mr.  Mool  finished  the  sentence.  '  "  And  my 
sister  will  understand  the  motive  which  ani- 
mates me  in  making  this  bequest."  '  He  laid  the 
"Will  on  tlie  table,  and  ventured  to  look  up. 
At  the  same  time,  Ovid  turned  to  his  mother, 
struck  by  the  words  which  had  been  just  read,  and 
eager  to  inquire  what  their  meaning  might  be. 
Happily  for  themselves,  the  two  men  never 
knew  what  the  preservation  of  their  tranquillity 
owed  to  that  one  moment  of  delay. 

If  they  had  looked  at  Mrs.  Gallilee,  when 
she  was  first  aware  of  her  position  in  the  Will, 
they  might  have  seen  the  incarnate  Devil  self- 
revealed  in  a  human  face.     They  might  have 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  93 

read,  in  her  eyes  and  on  lier  lips,  a  warning 
hardly  less  fearful  than  tlie  unearthly  writing 
on  the  wall,  which  told  the  Eastern  Monarch 
of  his  coming  death,  'See  this  woman,  and 
know  what  /  can  do  with  her,  when  she  has 
repelled  her  guardian  angel,  and  her  soul  is 
left  to  Me.' 

But  the  revelation  showed  itself,  and  van- 
ished. Her  face  was  composed  again,  when  her 
son  and  her  lawyer  looked  at  it.  Her  voice 
was  under  control ;  her  inbred  capacity  for 
deceit  was  ready  for  action.  All  those  formid- 
able qualities  in  her  nature,  which  a  gentler 
and  wiser  training  than  hers  had  been  might 
have  held  in  check — by  development  of  pre- 
servative influences  that  lay  inert — were  now 
driven  back  to  their  lurking-place ;  leaving 
only  the  faintest  traces  of  their  momentary 
appearance  on  the  surface.  Her  breathing 
seemed  to  be  oppressed;  her  eyelids  drooped 
heavily — and  that  was  all. 


94  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

'  Is  the  room  too  hot  for  you  ?  '  Ovid  asked. 

It  was  a  harmless  question,  but  any  question 
annoyed  her  at  that  moment.  '  Nonsense  ! ' 
she  exclaimed  irritably. 

'  The  atmosphere  of  the  conservatory  is  rich 
in  reviving  smells,'  Mr.  Mool  remarked.  '  Do 
I  detect,  among  the  delightful  perfumes  which 
reach  us,  the  fragrant  root-stock  of  the 
American  fern  ?  If  I  am  wrong,  Mrs.  Gallilee, 
may  I  send  you  some  of  the  sweet-smelling 
Maidenhair  from  my  own  little  hot-house  ^ ' 
He  smiled  persuasively.  The  ferns  were 
already  justifying  his  confidence  in  their  peace- 
making virtues,  turned  discreetly  to  account. 
Those  terrible  eyes  rested  on  him  mercifully. 
Not  even  a  covert  allusion  to  his  silence  in  the 
matter  of  the  legacy  escaped  her.  Did  the 
lawyer's  artlessly  abrupt  attempt  to  change  the 
subject  warn  her  to  be  on  her  guard?  In  any 
case,  she  thanked  him  with  the  readiest  cour- 
tesy for  his   kind   offer.      Might  she  trouble 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  95 

liini    ill    the    meantime    to    let   her   see   the 
Will? 

She  read  attentively  the  concluding  words 
of  the  clause  in  which  her  name  appeared — 
'  M-Y  sister  will  understand  the  motive  which 
animates  me  in  making  this  bequest ' — and 
then  handed  back  the  Will  to  Mr.  Mool. 
Before  Ovid  could  ask  for  it,  she  was  ready 
with  a  plausible  explanation.  '  When  your 
uncle  became  a  husband  and  a  father,'  she  said, 
'  those  claims  on  him  were  paramount.  He 
knew  that  a  token  of  remembrance  (the  smaller 
the  better)  was  all  I  could  accept,  if  I  happened 
to  outlive  him.     Please  go  on,  Mr.  Mool.' 

In  one  respect,  Ovid  resembled  his  late 
uncle.  They  both  belonged  to  that  high- 
minded  order  of  men,  who  are  slow  to  suspect, 
and  therefore  easy  to  deceive,  Ovid  tenderly 
took  his  mother's  hand. 

'  I  ought  to  have  known  it,'  he  said,  *  with- 
out obhging  you  to  tell  me.' 


96  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

Mrs.  Gallilee  did  not  blush.  Mr.  Mool 
did. 

'  Go  on ! '  Mrs.  Gallilee  repeated.  Mr. 
Mool  looked  at  Ovid.  '  The  next  name,  Mr. 
Vere,  is  yours.' 

'  Does  my  uncle  remember  me  as  he  has 
remembered  my  mother  ?  '  asked  Ovid. 

'Yes,  sir — and  let  me  tell  you,  a  very 
pretty  compliment  is  attached  to  the  bequest. 
"  It  is  needless  "  (your  late  uncle  says)  "  to  leave 
any  more  important  proof  of  remembrance  to 
my  nephew.  His  father  has  already  provided 
for  him  ;  and,  with  his  rare  abilities,  he  will 
make  a  second  fortune  by  the  exercise  of  his 
profession."  Most  gratifying,  Mrs.  Gallilee,  is  it 
not?  The  next  clause  provides  for  the  good 
old  housekeeper  Teresa,  and  for  her  husband 
if  he  survives  her,  in  the  following  terms ' 

Mrs.  Gallilee  was  becoming  impatient  to 
hear  more  of  herself,  '  We  may,  I  think,  pass 
over  that,'  she  suggested,  '  and  get  to  the  part 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  97 

of  it  which  relates  to  Carmina  and  me.  Don't 
think  I  am  impatient ;  I  am  only  desirous ' 

The  growling  of  a  dog  in  the  conservatory 
interrupted  her.  '  That  tiresome  creature ! ' 
she  said  sharply  ;  '  I  shall  be  obliged  to  get  rid 
of  him!' 

Mr.  Mool  volimteered  to  drive  the  dog  out 
of  the  conservatory.  Mrs.  Gallilee,  as  irritable 
as  ever,  stopped  him  at  the  door. 

'  Don't,  Mr.  Mool !  That  dog's  temper  is 
not  to  be  trusted.  He  shows  it  with  Miss 
Minerva,  my  governess — growls  just  in  that 
way  whenever  he  sees  her.  I  dare  say  he 
smells  you.  There !  Now  he  barks !  You 
are  only  making  him  worse.     Come  back  ! ' 

Being  at  the  door,  gentle  Mr.  Mool  tried 
the  ferns  as  peace-makers  once  more.  He 
gathered  a  leaf,  and  returned  to  his  place  in  a 
state  of  meek  adniiration.  'The  Howeriug 
fern  ! '  he  said  softly.  '  A  really  line  specimen, 
Mrs.  Gallilee,  of  the  Osmunda  Eegahs.     What 

VOL.  I.  JI 


98  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

a  world  of  beauty  in  this  bipimiate  frond! 
One  hardly  knows  where  the  stalk  ends  and 
the  leaf  begins  ! ' 

The  dog,  a  bright  little  terrier,  came  trotting 
into  the  library.  He  saluted  the  company 
briskly  with  his  tail,  not  excepting  Mr.  Mool. 
No  growl,  or  approach  to  a  growl,  now  escaped 
him.  The  manner  in  which  he  laid  himself 
down  at  Mrs.  Gallilee's  feet  completely  refuted 
her  aspersion  on  his  temper.  Ovid  suggested 
that  he  might  liave  been  provoked  by  a  cat  in 
the  conservatory. 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Mool  turned  over  a  page 
of  the  Will,  and  arrived  at  the  clauses  relating 
to  Carmina  and  her  guardian. 

'  It  may  not  be  amiss,'  he  began,  '  to  men- 
tion, in  the  first  place,  that  the  fortune  left  to 
Miss  Carmina  amounts,  in  round  numbers,  to 
one  hundred  and  thirty  thousand  pounds.  The 
Trustees ' 

'  Skip  the  Trustees,'  said  Mrs.  Gallilee. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  99 

Mr.  Mool  skipped. 

'  In  the  matter  of  tlie  guardian,'  he  said, 
'  there  is  a  prehminary  clause,  in  the  event  of 
your  death  or  refusal  to  act,  appointing  Lady 
Northlake ' 

'Skip  Lady  Northlake,'  said  Mrs.  Gallilee. 

Mr.  Mool  skipped. 

'You  are  appointed  Miss  Carmina's  guardian, 
until  she  comes  of  age,'  he  resumed.  '  If  she 
marries  in  that  interval ' 

He  paused  to  turn  over  a  page.  Not  only 
Mrs.  Gallilee,  but  Ovid  also,  now  listened  with 
the  deepest  interest. 

*  If  she  marries  in  that  interval,  with  her 
guardian's  approval ' 

'  Suppose  I  don't  approve  of  her  choice  ? ' 
Mrs.  Gallilee  interposed. 

Ovjd   looked  at  his  mother — and   quickly 

looked  away  again.     The  restless  Uttle  terrier 

caught  his  eye,  and  jumped  up  to  be  patted. 

Ovid   was   too    pre-occupied    to    notice    this 

H  2 


too  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

modest  advance.  The  dog's  eyes  and  ears 
expressed  reproachful  surprise.  His  friend 
Ovid  had  treated  him  rudely  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life. 

'  If  the  young  lady  contracts  a  matrimonial 
engagement  of  which  you  disapprove/  Mr.  Mool 
answered,  '  you  are  instructed  by  the  testator 
to  assert  your  reasons  in  the  presence  of — well, 
I  may  describe  it,  as  a  family  council ;  com- 
posed of  Mr.  Galhlee,  and  of  Lord  and  Lady 
Northlake.' 

*  Excessively  foolish  of  Kobert,'  Mrs.  Galh- 
lee remarked.  '  And  what,  Mr.  Mool,  is  this 
meddling  council  of  three  to  do  ?  ' 

'  A  majority  of  the  council,  Mrs.  Gallilee,  is 
to  decide  the  question  absolutely.  If  the 
decision  confirms  your  view,  and  if  Miss 
Carmina  still  persists  in  her  resolution  notwith- 
standing  ' 

'  Am  I  to  give  way  ?  '  Mrs.  Galhlee 
asked. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  loi 

'  Not  until  your  niece  comes  of  age,  ma'am. 
Then,  she  decides  for  herself.' 

'  And  inherits  the  fortune  ^  ' 

'  Only  an  income  from  part  of  it — if  her 
marriage  is  disapproved  by  her  guardian  and 
her  relatives.' 

'  And  what  becomes  of  the  rest  ?  ' 

'  The  whole  of  it,'  said  Mr.  Mool,  '  will  be 
invested  by  the  Trustees,  and  will  be  divided 
equally,  on  her  death,  among  her  children.' 

'  Suppose  she  leaves  no  children  .^ ' 

'  That  case  is  provided  for,  ma'am,  by  the 
last  clause.  I  will  only  say  now,  that  you  are 
interested  in  the  result.' 

Mrs.  Gallilee  turned  swiftly  and  sternly  to 
her  son.  'When  I  am  dead  and  gone,'  she 
said,  '  I  look  to  you  to  defend  my  memory.' 

'  To  defend  your  memory  ? '  Ovid  re- 
peated, wondering  what  she  could  possibly 
mean. 

'  If  I  do  become  interested  in  the  disposal 


102  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

of  Eobert's  fortune — which  God  forbid  ! — can't 
you  foresee  what  will  happen  ? '  his  mother 
inquired  bitterly.  'Lady  Northlake  will  say, 
"  Maria  intrigued  for  this  !  "  ' 

Mr.  Mool  looked  doubtfully  at  the  ferns. 
No !  His  vegetable  allies  were  not  strong 
enough  to  check  any  further  outpouring  of 
such  family  feehng  as  this.  Nothing  was  to  be 
trusted,  in  the  present  emergency,  but  the 
superior  authority  of  the  Will. 

'  Pardon  me,'  he  said ;  '  there  are  some 
further  instructions,  Mrs.  Gallilee,  which,  as  I 
venture  to  think,  exhibit  your  late  brother's 
well-known  liberality  of  feeling  in  a  very  inter- 
esting light.  They  relate  to  the  provision 
made  for  his  daughter,  while  she  is  residing 
under  your  roof.  Miss  Carmina  is  to  have  the 
services  of  the  best  masters,  in  finishing  her 
education.' 

*  Certainly  ! '  cried  Mrs.  Gallilee,  with  the 
utmost  fervour. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  103 

*  And  the  use  of  a  carriage  to  herself,  when- 
ever she  may  require  it.' 

'  No,  Mr.  Mool !  Two  carriages — in  such  a 
cUmate  as  this.     One  open,  and  one  closed.' 

'And  to  defray  these  and  other  expenses, 
the  Trustees  are  authorised  to  place  at  your 
disposal  one  thousand  a  year.' , 

'  Too  much !  too  much ! ' 

Mr.  Mool  might  have  agreed  with  her— if 
he  had  not  known  that  Eobert  Graywell  had 
thought  of  his  sister's  interests,  in  making  this 
excessive  provision  for  expenses  incurred  on  his 
daughter's  account. 

'  Perhaps,  her  dresses  and  her  pocket 
money  are  included  ?  '  Mrs.  Gallilee  re- 
sumed. 

Mr.  Mool  smiled,  and  shook  his  head. 
*  Mr.  Graywell's  generosity  has  no  limits,'  he 
said, '  where  his  daughter  is  concerned.  Miss 
Carmina  is  to  have  five  hundred  a  year  for 
pocket-money  and  dresses.' 


104  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

Mrs.  Gallilee  appealed  to  the  sympathies  of 
her  son.  '  Isn't  it  touching  ? '  she  said.  '  Dear 
Carmina !  my  own  people  in  Paris  shall  make 
her  dresses.     Well,  Mr.  Mool  ?  ' 

'Allow  me  to  read  the  exact  language  of 
the  Will  next,'  Mr.  Mool  answered.  '  "  If  her 
sweet  disposition  leads  her  into  exceeding  her 
allowance,  in  the  pursuit  of  her  own  little 
charities,  my  Trustees  are  hereby  authorised, 
at  their  own  discretion,  to  increase  the  amount, 
within  the  limit  of  another  five  hundred  pounds 
annually."  It  sounds  presumptuous,  perhaps, 
on  my  part,'  said  Mr.  Mool,  venturing  on  a 
modest  confession  of  enthusiasm, '  but  one  can't 
help  thinking,  What  a  good  father!  what  a 
good  child ! ' 

Mrs.  Gallilee  had  another  appropriate  re- 
mark ready  on  her  lips,  when  the  unlucky  dog 
interrupted  her  once  more.  He  made  a  sudden 
rush  into  the  conservatory,  barking  with  all  his 
might.     A  crashing  noise   followed  the   dog's 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  105 

outbreak,  which  sounded  Uke  tlie  fall  of  a 
flower-pot. 

Ovid  hurried  into  the  conservatory — with 
the  dog  ahead  of  him,  tearing  down  the  steps 
which  led  into  the  back  garden. 

The  pot  lay  broken  on  the  tiled  floor. 
Struck  by  the  beauty  of  the  floAver  that  grew 
in  it,  he  stooped  to  set  it  up  again.  If,  instead 
of  doing  this,  he  had  advanced  at  once  to  the 
second  door,  he  would  have  seen  a  lady  hasten- 
ing into  the  house ;  and,  though  her  back  view 
only  was  presented,  he  could  hardly  have  failed 
to  recognise  Miss  Minerva.  As  it  was,  when 
he  reached  the  door,  the  garden  was  empty. 

He  looked  up  at  the  house,  and  saw  Car- 
mina  at  the  open  window  of  her  bedroom. 

The  sad  expression  on  that  sweet  young 
face  grieved  him.  Was  she  thinking  of  her 
happy  past  life?  or  of  the  doubtful  future, 
among  strangers  in  a  strange  country?  She 
noticed  Ovid — and  her  eyes  brightened.     His 


io6  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

customary  coldness  with  women  melted  in- 
stantly: he  kissed  his  hand  to  her.  She  re- 
turned the  salute  (so  familiar  to  her  in  Italy)  with 
her  gentle  smile,  and  looked  back  into  the  room. 
Teresa  showed  herself  at  the  window.  Always 
following  her  impulses  without  troubling  herself 
to  think  first,  the  duenna  followed  them  now. 
'  We  are  dull  up  here,'  she  called  out.  '  Come 
back  to  us,  Mr.  Ovid.'  The  words  had  hardly 
been  spoken  before  they  both  turned  from  the 
window.  Teresa  pointed  significantly  into  the 
room.     They  disappeared. 

Ovid  went  back  to  the  library. 

'  Anybody  listening? '  Mr.  Mool  inquired. 

'  I  have  not  discovered  anybody,  but  I  doubt 
if  a  stray  cat  could  have  upset  that  heavy  flower- 
pot.' He  looked  round  him  as  he  made  the 
reply.     '  Where  is  my  mother  ?  '  he  asked. 

Mrs.  Gallilee  had  gone  upstairs,  eager  to 
tell  Carmina  of  the  handsome  allowance  made 
to  her  by  her  father.     Having  answered  in  these 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  107 

terms,  Mr  Mool  begcan  to  fold  up  tlie  Will — 
and  suddenly  stopped. 

'  Very  inconsiderate,  on  my  part,'  he  said  ; 
'  I  forgot,  Mr.  Ovid,  that  you  haven't  heard  the 
end  of  it.  Let  me  give  you  a  brief  abstract. 
You  know,  perhaps,  that  Miss  Carmina  is  a 
CathoHc?  Very  natural — her  poor  mother's 
rehgion.  Well,  sir,  her  good  father  forgets 
nothing.  All  attempts  at  proselytising  are 
strictly  forbidden.' 

Ovid  smiled.  His  mother's  religious  con- 
victions began  and  ended  with  the  inorganic 
matter  of  the  earth. 

'The  last  clause,'  Mr.  Mool  proceeded, 
'  seemed  to  agitate  Mrs.  Galhlee  quite  painfully. 
I  reminded  her  that  her  brother  had  no  near 
relations  Uving,  but  Lady  Northlake  and  herself. 
As  to  leaving  money  to  my  lady,  in  my  lord's 
princely  position ' 

'  Pardon  me,'  Ovid  interposed, '  what  is  there 
to  agitate  my  mother  in  this?' 


lo8  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

Mr.  Mool  made  his  apologies  for  not  getting 
sooner  to  the  point,  with  the  readiest  good- will. 

*  Professional   habit,  Mr.    Ovid,'  he  explained. 

*  We  are  apt  to  be  wordy — paid,  in  fact,  at  so 
much  a  folio,  for  so  many  words ! — and  we  like 
to  clear  the  ground  first.  Your  late  uncle  ends 
his  Will,  by  providing  for  the  disposal  of  his 
fortune,  in  two  possible  events,  as  follows :  Miss 
Carraina  may  die  unmarried,  or  Miss  Carmina 
(being  married)  may  die  without  offspring.' 

Seeing  the  importance  of  the  last  clause 
now,  Ovid  stopped  him  again.  *  Do  I  remember 
the  amount  of  the  fortune  correctly  ? '  he  asked. 
'  Was  it  a  hundred  and  thirty  thousand  pounds  ? ' 

'  Yes.' 

'  And  what  becomes  of  all  that  money,  if 
Carmina  never  marries,  or  if  she  leaves  no 
children  ? ' 

'  In  either  of  those  cases,  sir,  the  whole 
of  the  money  goes  to  Mrs.  Gallilee  and  her 
daughters.' 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  109 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

Time  had  advanced  to  midnight,  after  the 
reading  of  the  Will — and  Ovid  was  at  home. 

Tlie  silence  of  the  quiet  street  in  which  he 
lived  was  only  disturbed  by  the  occasional 
rolling  of  carriage  wheels,  and  by  dance-music 
from  the  house  of  one  of  his  neighbours  wIjo 
was  giving  a  ball.  He  sat  at  his  writing-table, 
thinking.  Honest  self-examination  had  laid  out 
the  state  of  his  mind  before  him  like  a  map, 
and  had  shown  him,  in  its  true  proportions,  the 
new  interest  that  filled  his  hfe. 

Of  that  interest  he  was  now  the  willing 
slave.  If  he  had  not  known  his  mother  to  be 
witli  her,  lie  would  liave  gone  back  to  Carniina 
when  the  lawyer  left  the  hou.><e.     As  it  was,  he 


no  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

had  sent  a  message  upstairs,  inviting  himself  to 
dinner,  solely  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  Carmina 
again — and  he  had  been  bitterly  disappointed 
when  he  heard  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gallilee  were 
engaged,  and  that  his  cousin  would  take  tea  in 
her  room.  He  had  eaten  something  at  his 
club,  without  caring  what  it  was.  He  had 
gone  to  the  Opera  afterwards,  merely  because 
his  recollections  of  a  favourite  singing-lady  of 
that  season  vaguely  reminded  him  of  Carmina. 
And  there  he  was,  at  midnight,  on  his  return 
from  the  music,  eager  for  the  next  opportunity 
of  seeing  his  cousin,  a  few  hours  hence — when 
he  had  arranged  to  say  good-bye  at  the  family 
breakfast-table. 

To  feel  this  change  in  him  as  vividly  as  he 
felt  it,  could  lead  to  but  one  conclusion  in  the 
mind  of  a  man  who  was  incapable  of  purposely 
deceiving  himself.  He  was  as  certain  as  ever  of 
the  importance  of  rest  and  change,  in  the  broken 
state  of  his  health.     And  yet,  in  the  face  of  that 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  m 

conviction,  his  contemplated  sea-voyage  had 
already  become  one  of  the  vanished  illusions  ot 
his  life  ! 

His  friend  had  arranged  to  travel  with  him, 
that  morning,  from  London  to  the  port  at 
which  the  yacht  was  waiting  for  them.  They 
were  hardly  intimate  enough  to  trust  each 
other  unreservedly  with  secrets.  The  custom- 
ary apology  for  breaking  an  engagement  was 
the  alternative  that  remained.  With  the  paper 
on  his  desk  and  with  the  words  on  his  mind,  he 
was  yet  in  such  a  strange  state  of  indecision 
that  he  hesitated  to  write  the  letter  ! 

His  morbidly-sensitive  nerves  were  sadly 
shaken.  Even  the  familiar  record  of  the  half- 
hour  by  the  hall  clock  startled  him.  The  stroke 
of  the  bell  was  succeeded  by  a  mild  and  mourn- 
ful sound  outside  the  door — the  mewing  of  a 
cat. 

He  rose,  without  any  appearance  of  surprise^ 
and  opened  the  door. 


112  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

With  grace  and  dignity  entered  a  small 
black  female  cat ;  exhibiting,  by  way  of  variety 
of  colour,  a  melancholy  triangular  patch  of 
white  over  the  lower  part  of  her  face,  and  four 
brilliantly  clean  white  paws.  Ovid  went  back 
to  his  desk.  As  soon  as  he  was  in  his  chair 
again,  the  cat  jumped  on  his  slioulder,  and  sat 
there  purring  in  his  ear.  This  was  the  place 
she  occupied,  whenever  her  master  was  writing 
alone.  Passing  one  day  through  a  surburban 
neighbourhood,  on  his  round  of  visits,  the 
young  surgeon  had  been  attracted  by  a  crowd 
in  a  by-street.  He  had  rescued  his  present 
companion  from  starvation  in  a  locked-up 
house,  the  barbarous  inhabitants  of  which  had 
gone  away  for  a  holiday,  and  had  forgotten 
the  cat.  When  Ovid  took  the  poor  creature 
home  with  him  in  his  carriage,  popular  feeling 
decided  that  the  unknown  gentleman  was  '  a 
rum  'un.'  From  that  moment,  this  forlunatc 
little   member   of    a    brutally-slandei'ed   race 


HEART  AND    SCIENCE.  113 

attached  herself  to  her  new  friend,  and  to  that 
friend  only.  If  Ovid  had  ownecj  the  truth,  he 
must  have  acknowledged  that  her  company  was 
a  relief  to  him,  in  the  present  state  of  his  mind. 

When  a  man's  flagging  purpose  is  in  want 
of  a  stimulant,  the  most  trifling  change  in  the 
circumstances  of  the  moment  often  applies  the 
animating  influence.  Even  such  a  small  inter- 
ruption as  the  appearance  of  his  cat  rendered 
this  service  to  Ovid.  To  nse  the  common  and 
expressive  phrase,  it  had  '  shaken  him  up.'  He 
wrote  the  letter — and  his  patient  companion 
killed  the  time  by  washing  her  face. 

His  mind  being  so  far  relieved,  he  went  to 
bed — the  cat  following  him  upstairs  to  her  bed 
in  a  corner  of  the  room.  Clothes  are  unwhole- 
some superfluities  not  contemplated  in  the 
system  of  Nature.  When  we  are  exhausted, 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  true  repose  for  us 
until  we  are  freed  from  our  dress.  Men 
subjected  to  any  excessive  exertion — fighting, 

VOL.  I.  I 


114  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

rowing,  walking,  working — must  strip  their 
bodies  as  completely  as  possible,  or  they  are  not 
equal  to  the  call  on  them.  Ovid's  knowledge  of 
his  own  temperament  told  him  that  sleep  was 
not  to  be  hoped  for,  that  night.  But  the  way 
to  bed  was  the  way  to  rest  notwithstanding, 
by  getting  rid  of  his  clothes. 

With  the  sunrise  he  rose  and  went  out. 

He  took  his  letter  with  him,  and  dropped  it 
into  the  box  in  his  friend's  door.  The  sooner 
he  committed  himself  to  the  new  course  that 
he  had  taken,  the  more  certain  he  might  feel 
of  not  renewing  the  miserable  and  useless 
indecision  of  the  past  night.  '  Thank  God, 
that's  done ! '  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  heard  the 
letter  fall  into  the  box,  and  left  the  house. 

After  walking  in  the  Park  until  he  was 
weary,  he  sat  down  by  the  ornamental  lake, 
and  watched  the  waterfowl  enjoying  tlieir 
happy  lives. 

Wherever  he  went,  whatever  he  did,  Oar- 


HEART  AND   SCIENCE.  115 

mina    was  always   with   him.     He   had   seen 
thousands  of  girls,  whose  personal  attractions 
were    far   more   remarkable — and    some   few 
among  them  whose  manner  was  perhaps  equally 
winning.     What  was  the   charm   in  the  little 
half-foreign  cousin  that  had  seized  on  him  in  an 
mstant,  and  that  seemed  to  fasten  its  subtle  hold 
more  and  more  irresistibly  with  every  minute  of 
his  life?     He  was  content  to  feel  the  charm 
without   caring    to    fathom    it.     The    lovely 
morning  light' took  him  in  imagination  to  her 
bedside  ;  he  saw  her  sleeping  peacefully  in  her 
new  room.     Would  the  time  come  when  she 
might  dream  of  him?    He  looked  at  his  watch. 
It  was  seven  o'clock.     The  breakfast-hour  at 
Fairfield  Gardens  had  been  fixed  for  eight,  to 
give   him   time   to   catch  the   morning   train. 
Half  an  hour  might  be   occupied  in  walking 
back  to  his  own  house.     Add  ten  minutes  to 
make  some  change  in  his  dress — and  he  might 
set  forth  for  his  next  meeting  with  Carmina. 

r  2 


ii6  HEART  AND   SCIENCE. 

No  uneasy  anticipation  of  what  the  family  circle 
might  think  of  his  sudden  change  of  plan 
troubled  his  mind.  A  very  different  question 
occupied  him.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he 
wondered  what  dress  a  woman  would  wear  at 
breakfast  time. 

He  opened  his  house  door  with  his  own 
key.  An  elderly  person,  in  a  coarse  black 
gown,  was  seated  on  the  bench  in  the  hall. 
She  rose,  and  advanced  towards  him.  In 
speechless  astonishment,  he  confronted  Car- 
mina's  faithful  companion — Teresa. 

'  If  you  please,  I  want  to  speak  to  you,'  she 
said,  in  her  best  English. 

Ovid  took  her  into  his  consulting-room. 
She  wasted  no  time  in  apologies  or  explanations. 
*  Don't  speak  ! '  she  broke  out.  '  Carmina  has 
had  a  bad  night.' 

'  I  shall  be  at  the  house  in  half  an  hour ! ' 
Ovid  eagerly  assured  her. 

The  duenna  shook  her  forefinger  impatiently. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  117 

'  She   doesn't  want  a    doctor.     She   wants  a 
friend,  when  I  am  gone.     What  is  her  hfe 
here  ?     A  new  life,  among  new  people.     Don't 
speak!     She's  frightened  and  miserable.     So 
young,  so  shy,  so  easily  startled.     And  I  must 
leave  her — I  must !    I  must !     My  old  man  is 
faihng  fast ;  he  may  die,  without  a  creature  to 
comfort  him,  if  I  don't  go  back.     I  could  tear 
my  hair  when  I  think  of  it.     Don't  speak  !    It's 
my  business  to  speak.     Ha !     I  know,  what  I 
know.     Young   doctor,    you're   in  love    with 
Carmina !     I've  read  you  like  a  book.     You're 
quick  to  see,  sudden  to  feel — like  one  of  my 
people.     Be  one  of  my  people.     Help  me.' 

She  dragged  a  chair  close  to  Ovid,  and  laid 
her  hand  suddenly  and  heavily  on  his  arm. 

'  It's  not  my  fault,  mind ;  /  have  said 
nothing  to  disturb  her.  No!  I've  made  the 
best  of  it.  I've  lied  tocher.  What  do  I  care  ? 
I  would  lie  like  Judas  Iscariot  himself  to  spare 
Carmina  a  moment's  pain.     It's  such  a  new  life 


ii8  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

for  her — try  to  see  it  for  yourself — such  a  new 
Hfe.  You  a^nd  I  shook  hands  yesterday.  Do 
it  again.  Are  you  surprised  to  see  me?  I 
asked  your  mother's  servants  where  you 
lived  ;  and  here  I  am — ^with  the  cruel  teeth  of 
anxiety  gnawing  me  alive  when  I  think  of  the 
time  to  come.  Oh,  my  lamb  !  my  angel !  she's 
alone.  Oh,  my  God,  only  seventeen  years  old, 
and  alone  in  the  world  !  No  father,  no  mother ; 
and  soon — oh,  too  soon,  too  soon — not  even 
Teresa !  What  are  you  looking  at  ?  What  is 
there  so  wonderful  in  the  tears  of  a  stupid 
old  fool  ?  Drops  of  hot  water.  Ha !  ha !  if 
they  fall  on  your  fine  carpet  here,  they  won't 
hurt  it.  You're  a  good  fellow ;  you're  a  dear 
fellow.  Hush  !  I  know  the  Evil  Eye  when  I 
see  it.  No  more  of  that !  A  secret  in  your 
ear — I've  said  a  word  for  you  to  Carmina 
already.  Give  her  time  ;  she's  not  cold ;  young 
and  innocent,  that's  all.  Love  will  come — I 
know,  what  I  know — love  will  come.' 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  119 

She  laughed — and,  in  the  very  act  of 
laughing,  changed  again.  Fright  looked 
wildly  at  Ovid  out  of  her  staring  eyes.  Some 
terrifying  remembrance  had  suddenly  occurred 
to  her.     She  sprang  to  her  feet. 

'  You  said  you  were  going  away,'  she  cried. 
'  You  said  it,  when  you  left  us  yesterday.  It 
can't  .be !  it  shan't  be !  You're  not  going  to 
leave  Carmina,  too  ?  ' 

Ovid's  first  impulse  was  to  tell  the  whole 
truth.  He  resisted  the  impulse.  To  own  that 
Carmina  was  the  cause  of  his  abandonment 
of  the  sea- voyage,  before  she  was  even  sure 
of  the  impression  she  had  produced  on  him, 
woidd  be  to  place  himself  in  a  position  from 
which  his  self-respect  recoiled.  *  My  plans  are 
changed,'  was  all  he  said  to  Teresa.  *  Make 
your  mind  easy ;  I'm  not  going  away.' 

The  strange  old  creature  snapped  her 
fingers  joyously.  '  Good-bye  !  I  want  no  more 
of  you.'     With  those  cool  and  candid  words  of 


I20  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

farewell,  she  advanced  to  the  door — stopped 
suddenly  to  think — and  came  back.  Only  a 
moment  had  passed,  and  she  was  as  sternly  in 
earnest  again  as  ever. 

'  May  I  call  you  by  your  name  ? '  she 
asked. 

*  Certainly  ! ' 

'  Listen,  Ovid !  I  may  not  see  you  again 
before  I  go  back  to  my  husband.  This  is  my 
last  word — never  forget  it.  Even  Carmina 
may  have  enemies  ! ' 

What  could  she  be  thinking  of  .^  '  Enemies 
— in  my  mother's  house ! '  Ovid  exclaimed. 
'  What  can  you  possibly  mean  ?  ' 

Teresa  returned  to  the  door,  and  only 
answered  him  when  she  had  opened  it  to  go. 

'  The  Evil  Eye  never  lies,'  she  said.  *  Wait 
— and  you  will  see.' 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  121 


CHAPTER  X. 

Mrs.  Gallilee  was  on  her  way  to  the  break- 
fast-room, when  her  son  entered  the  house. 
They  met  in  the  hall.  '  Is  your  packing  clone  ?  ' 
she  asked. 

He  was  in  no  humour  to  wait,  and  make 
his  confession  at  that  moment.  '  Not  yet,'  was 
his  only  reply. 

Mi's.  Gallilee  led  the  way  into  the  room. 
'  Ovid's  luggage  is  not  ready  yet,'  she  an- 
nounced ;  '  I  believe  he  will  lose  his  train.' 

They  were  all  at  the  breakfast  table,  the 
children  and  the  governess  included.  Car- 
mina's  worn  face,  telling  its  tale  of  a  wakeful 
night,  brightened  again,  as  it  had  brightened  at 
the   bedroom   window,   when   she   saw   Ovid. 


122  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

She  took  his  hand  frankly,  and  made  hght  of 
her  weary  looks.  'No,  my  cousin,'  she  said, 
playfully ;  '  I  mean  to  be  worthier  of  my 
pretty  bed  to-night ;  I  am  not  going  to  be  your 
patient  yet.'  Mr.  Gallilee  (with  his  mouth  full 
at  the  moment)  offered  good  advice.  '  Eat  and 
drink  as  I  do,  my  dear,'  he  said  to  Carmina ; 
'  and  you  will  sleep  as  I  do.  Off  I  go  when 
the  light's  out — flat  on  my  back,  as  Mrs.  Galli- 
lee will'  tell  you — and  wake  me  if  you  can,  till 
it's  time  to  get  up.  Have  some  buttered  eggs, 
Ovid.  They're  good,  ain't  they,  Zo?'  Zo 
looked  up  from  her  plate,  and  agreed  with  her 
father,  in  one  emphatic  word,  '  Jolly ! '  Miss 
Minerva,  queen  of  governesses,  instantly  did 
her  duty.  '  Zoe  !  how  often  must  I  tell  you 
not  to  talk  slang?  Do  you  ever  hear  your 
sister  say  "  Jolly  ?  "  '  That  highly-cultivated 
child,  Maria,  strong  in  conscious  \irtue,  added 
her  authority  in  support  of  the  protest.  '  No 
young  lady  who  respects  herself,  Zoe,  will  ever 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  123 

talk  slang.'  Mr.  Gallilee  was  unworthy  of  such 
a  daughter.  He  muttered  under  his  breath, 
'  Oh,  bother ! '  Zo  held  out  her  plate  for  more. 
Mr.  Gallilee  was  delighted.  '  My  child  all 
over ! '  he  exclaimed.  '  We  are  both  of  us 
good  feeders.  Zo  will  grow  up  a  fine  woman.' 
He  appealed  to  his  stepson  to  agree  with 
liim.  '  That's  your  medical  opinion,  Ovid,  isn't 
it.?' 

Carmina's  pretty  smile  passed  like  rippling 
light  over  her  eyes  and  her  lips.  In  her  brief 
experience  of  England,  Mr.  Gallilee  was  the 
one  exhilarating  element  in  family  life. 

Mrs.  Gallilee's  mind  still  dwelt  on  her  son's 
luggage,  and  on  the  rigorous  punctuality  of 
railway  arrangements. 

'  What  is  your  servant  about  ? '  she  said  to 
Ovid.  '  It's  his  business  to  see  that  you  are 
ready  in  time.' 

It  was  useless  to  allow  the  false  impression 
that  prevailed  to  continue  any  longer.     Ovid 


124  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

set  them  all  right,  in  the  plainest  and  fewest 
words. 

'  My  servant  is  not  to  blame.'  he  said.  '  I 
have  written  an  apology  to  my  friend — I  am  not 
going  away.' 

For  the  moment,  this  astounding  annomice- 
ment  was  received  in  silent  dismay — excepting 
the  youngest  member  of  the  company.  After 
her  father,  Ovid  was  the  one  other  person  in 
the  world  who  held  a  place  in  Zo's  odd  little 
heart.  Her  sentiments  were  now  expressed 
without  hesitation  and  without  reserve.  She 
put  down  her  spoon,  and  she  cried,  '  Hooray  ! ' 
Another  exhibition  of  vulgarity.  But  even 
Miss  Minerva  was  too  completely  preoccupied 
by  the  revelation  which  had  burst  on  the 
family  to  administer  the  necessary  reproof. 
Her  eager  eyes  were  ri vetted  on  Ovid,  As  for 
Mr.  Gallilee,  he  held  his  bread  and  butter 
suspended  in  mid-au',  and  stared  open-mouthed 
at  his  stepson,  in  helpless  consternation. 


HEART  AND   SCIENCE.  125 

Mrs.  Gallilee  always  eet  the  riglit  example. 
Mrs.  Gallilee  was  the  first  to  demand  an  ex- 
planation. 

'What  does  this  extraordinary  proceeding 
mean  ?  '  she  asked. 

Ovid  was  impenetrable  to  the  tone  in 
which  that  question  was  put.  He  had  looked 
at  his  cousin,  when  he  declared  his  change  of 
plan — and  he  was  looking  at  her  still.  What- 
ever the  feeling  of  the  moment  might  be, 
Carmina's  sensitive  face  expressed  it  vividly. 
Who  could  mistake  the  faintly-rising  colour  in 
her  cheeks,  the  sweet  quickening  of  light  in 
her  eyes,  when  she  met  Ovid's  look?  Still 
hardly  capable  of  estimating  the  influence  that 
she  exercised  over  him,  her  sense  of  the  interest 
taken  in  her  by  Ovid  was  the  proud  sense  that 
makes  girls  innocently  bold.  Whatever  the 
others  might  think  of  his  broken  engagement, 
her  artless  eyes  said  plainly,  '  My  feeling  is 
happy  surprise.' 


126  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

Mrs.  Gallilee  summoned  her  son  to  attend 
her,  in  no  friendly  voice.  She,  too,  had  looked 
at  Carmina — and  had  registered  the  result  of 
her  observation  privately. 

'  Are  we  to  hear  your  reasons  ?  '  she  in- 
quired. 

Ovid  had  made  the  one  discovery  in  the 
world,  on  which  his  whole  heart  was  set. 
He  was  so  happy,  that  he  kept  his  mother  out 
of  his  secret,  with  a  masterly  composure  worthy 
of  herself. 

'  I  don't  think  a  sea- voyage  is  the  right 
thing  for  me,'  he  answered. 

'  Eather  a  sudden  change  of  opinion,'  Mrs. 
Gallilee  remarked. 

Ovid  coolly  agreed  with  her.  It  was  rather 
sudden,  he  said. 

The  governess  still  looked  at  him,  wonder- 
ing whether  he  would  provoke  an  outbreak. 

After  a  little  pause,  Mrs.  Galhlee  accepted 
her  son's  short  answer — with  a  sudden  submis- 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  127 

sion  which  had  a  meaning  of  its  own.  She 
offered  Ovid  another  cup  of  tea ;  and,  more 
remarkable  yet,  she  turned  to  her  eldest 
daughter,  and  deliberately  changed  the  subject. 
'  What  are  your  lessons,  my  dear,  to-day  ?  '  she 
asked,  with  bland  maternal  interest. 

By  this  time,  bewildered  Mr.  Gallilee  had 
finished  his  bread  and  butter.  '  Ovid  knows 
best,  my  dear,'  he  said  cheerfully  to  his  wife. 
Mrs.  Gallilee's  sudden  recoveiy  of  her  temper 
did  not  include  her  husband.  If  a  look  could 
have  annihilated  that  worthy  man,  his  corporal 
presence  must  have  vanished  into  air,  when  he 
had  delivered  himself  of  his  opinion.  As  it 
was,  he  only  helped  Zo  to  another  spoonful 
of  jam.  '  When  Ovid  first  thought  of  that 
voyage,'  he  went  on,  '  I  said,  Suppose  he's 
sick?  A  dreadful  sensation  isn't  it.  Miss 
Minerva?  First  you  seem  to  sink  into  your 
shoes,  and  then  it  all  comes  up — eh  ?  You're 
not  sick  at  sea  ?    I  congratulate  you !     I  most 


128  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

sincerely  congratulate  you!  My  dear  Ovid, 
come  and  dine  with  me  to-night  at  the  club.' 
He  looked  doubtfully  at  his  wife,  as  he 
made  that  proposal.  '  Got  the  headache,  my 
dear  ?  I'll  take  you  out  with  pleasure  for  a 
walk.  What's  the  matter  with  her.  Miss 
Minerva  ?  Oh,  I  see  !  Hush  !  Maria's  going 
to  say  grace. Amen !  Amen  !  ' 

They  all  rose  from  the  table. 

Mr.  Gallilee  was  the  first  to  open  the  door. 
The  smoking-room  at  Fairfield  Gardens  was 
over  the  kitchen ;  he  preferred  enjoying  his 
cigar  in  the  garden  of  the  Square.  He  looked 
at  Carmina  and  Ovid,  as  if  he  wanted  one  of 
them  to  accompany  him.  They  were  both  at 
the  aviary,  admiring  the  birds,  and  absorbed  in 
their  own  talk.  Mr.  Gallilee  resigned  himself 
to  his  fate ;  appealing,  on  his  way  out,  to 
somebody  to  agree  with  him  as  usual.  '  Well ! ' 
he  said  with  a  little  sigh,  '  a  cigar  keeps  one 
company.'     Miss  Minerva  (absorbed  in  her  own 


HEART  AND   SCIENCE.  129 

thoiiglits)  passed  near  him,  on  her  way  to  the 
school-room  with  her  pupils.  '  You  would 
find  it  so  yourself,  Miss  Minerva — that  is  to 
say,  if  you  smoked,  which  of  course  you 
don't.  Be  a  good  girl,  Zo  ;  attend  to  your 
lessons.' 

Zo's  perversity  in  the  matter  of  lessons  put 
its  own  crooked  construction  on  this  excellent 
advice.  She  answered  in  a  whisper,  '  Give  us 
a  holiday.' 

The  passing  aspirations  of  idle  minds,  being 
subject  to  the  law  of  chances,  are  sometimes 
fulfilled,  and  so  exhibit  poor  human  wishes  in 
a  consolatory  light.  Thanks  to  the  conversa- 
tion between  Carmina  and  Ovid,  Zo  got  her 
holiday  after  all. 

Mrs.  Gallilee,  still  as  amiable  as  ever,  had 
joined  her  son  and  her  niece  at  the  aviary. 
Ovid  said  to  his  mother,  '  Carmina  is  fond  of 
birds.  I  have  been  telling  her  she  may  sec  all 
the  races  of  birds  assembled  in  the  Zoological 
VOL.  I.  ^ 


I30  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

Gardens.  It's  a  perfect  day.  Why  shouldn't 
we  go  ?  ' 

The  stupidest  woman  Hvmg  would  have 
understood  what  this  proposal  really  meant. 
Mrs.  Gallilee  sanctioned  it  as  composedly  as  if 
Ovid  and  Carmina  had  been  brother  and  sister. 
'  I  wish  I  could  go  with  you,'  she  said,  '  but 
my  household  affairs  hll  my  morning.  And 
there  is  a  lecture  this  afternoon,  which  I  can- 
not possibly  lose.  I  don't  know,  Carmina, 
whether  you  are  interested  in  these  things. 
We  are  to  have  the  apparatus,  which  illustrates 
the  conversion  of  radiant  energy  into  sonorous 
vibrations.  Have  you  ever  heard,  my  dear,  of 
the  Diathermancy  of  Ebonite?  Not  in  your 
way,  perhaps  ?  ' 

Carmina  looked  as  unintelligent  as  Zo 
herself.  Mrs.  Gallilee's  science  seemed  to 
frighten  her.  The  Diathermancy  of  Ebonite, 
by  some  incomprehensible  process,  drove  her 
bewildered  mind  back  on  her  old  companion 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  131 

'  I  want  to  give  Teresa  a  little  pleasure  before 
we  part,'  she  said  timidly ;  '  may  she  go  with 
us?' 

'  Of  course  ! '  cried  Mrs.  Gallilee.  '  And, 
now  I  think  of  it,  why  shouldn't  the  children 
have  a  little  pleasure  too  ?  I  will  give  them 
a  holiday.  Don't  be  alarmed,  Ovid ;  Miss 
Minerva  will  look  after  them.  In  the  mean- 
time, Carmina,  tell  your  good  old  friend  to  get 
ready.' 

Carmina  hastened  away,  S,nd  so  helped 
Mrs.  Gallilee  to  the  immediate  object  which 
she  had  in  view — a  private  interview  with  her 
son. 

Ovid  anticipated  a  searching  inquiry  into 
the  motives  which  had  led  him  to  give  up  the 
sea  voyage.  His  mother  was  far  too  clever  a 
woman  to  waste  her  time  in  that  way.  Her 
first  words  told  him  that  his  motive  was  as 
plainly  revealed  to  her  as  the  sunlight  shining 
in  at  the  window. 

x2 


132  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

'That's  a  charming  girl,'  she  said,  when 
Carmina  closed  the  door  behind  her.  '  Modest 
and  natural — quite  the  sort  of  girl,  Ovid,  to 
attract  a  clever  man  like  you.' 

Ovid  was  completely  taken  by  surprise,  and 
owned  it  by  his  silence.  Mrs.  Gallilee  went  on 
in  a  tone  of  innocent  maternal  pleasantry. 

'  You  know  you  began  young,'  she  said  ; 
'  your  first  love  was  that  poor  little  wizen  girl 
of  Lady  Northlake's  who  died.  Child's  play, 
you  will  tell  me,  and  nothing  more.  But,  my 
dear,  I  am  afraid  I  shall  require  some  persua- 
sion, before  I  quite  sympathise  with  this  new 
— what  shall  I  call  it  ? — infatuation  is  too  hard 
a  word,  and  "  fancy  "  means  nothing.  We  will 
leave  it  a  blank.  Marriages  of  cousins  are 
debatable  marriages,  to  say  the  least  of  them ; 
and  Protestant  fathers  and  Papist  mothers  do 
occasionally  involve  difficulties  with  children. 
Not  that  I  say.  No.  Far  from  it.  But  if  this 
is  to  go  on,  I  do  hesitate.' 


HEART  AND   SCIENCE.  133 

Something  in  his  mother's  tone  grated  on 
Ovid's  sensibihties.  '  I  don't  at  all  follow  you,' 
he  said,  rather  sharply  ;  '  you  are  looking  a 
little  too  far  into  the  future.' 

'  Then  we  will  return  to  the  present,'  Mrs. 
Gallilee  replied — still  with  the  readiest  sub- 
mission to  the  humour  of  her  son. 

On  recent  occasions,  she  had  expressed  the 
opinion  that  Ovid  would  do  wisely — at  his  age, 
and  with  his  professional  pros23ects — to  wait  a 
few  years  before  he  thought  of  marrying. 
Having  said  enough  in  praise  of  her  niece 
to  satisfy  him  for  the  time  being  (without 
appearing  to  be  meanly  influenced,  in  modify- 
ing her  opinion,  by  the  question  of  money),  her 
next  object  was  to  induce  him  to  leave  England 
immediately,  for  the  recovery  of  his  health. 
With  Ovid  absent,  and  with  Carmina  under 
her  sole  superintendence,  Mrs.  Gallilee  could 
see  her  way  to  her  own  private  ends. 

'  Eeally,'  she  resumed,  '  you  ought  to  think 


134  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

seriously  of  change  of  air  and  scene.  You 
know  you  would  not  allow  a  patient,  in  your 
present  state  of  health,  to  trifle  with  himself  as 
you  are  trifling  now.  If  you  don't  like  the  sea, 
try  the  Continent.  Get  away  somewhere,  my 
dear,  for  your  own  sake.' 

It  was  only  possible  to  answer  this,  in  one 
way.  Ovid  owned  that  his  mother  was  right, 
and  asked  for  time  to  think.  To  his  infinite 
relief,  he  was  interrupted  by  a  knock  at  the 
door.  Miss  Minerva  entered  the  room — not  in 
a  very  amiable  temper,  judging  by  appear- 
ances. 

'  I  am  afraid  I  disturb  you,'  she  began. 

Ovid  seized  the  opportunity  of  retreat.  He 
had  some  letters  to  write — he  hurried  away  to 
the  library. 

'  Is  there  any  mistake  ? '  the  governess 
asked,  when  she  and  Mrs.  GaUilee  were  alone. 

*  In  what  respect.  Miss  Minerva .?  ' 

'  I  met  your  niece,  ma'am,  on  the  stairs. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  135 

8he  says  you  wish  the  children  to  have  a 
holiday.' 

'  Yes,  to  go  with  my  son  and  Miss  Carmma 
to  the  Zoological  Gardens.' 

'  Miss  Carmina  said  I  was  to  go  too.' 

'  Miss  Carmina  was  perfectly  right.' 

The  governess  fixed  her  searching  eyes  on 
Mrs.  Gallilee.  '  You  really  wish  me  to  go  with 
them  ?  '  she  said. 

ado.' 

'  I  know  why.' 

In  the  course  of  their  experience,  Mrs. 
Gallilee  and  Miss  Minerva  had  once  quarrelled 
fiercely — and  Mrs.  Gallilee  had  got  the  worst 
of  it.  She  learnt  her  lesson.  For  the  future 
she  knew  how  to  deal  with  her  governess. 
When  one  said,  '  I  know  why,'  the  other  only 
answered,  '  Do  you  ?  ' 

'Let's  have  it  out  plainly,  ma'am,'  Miss 
Minerva  proceeded.  '  I  am  not  to  let  Mr. 
Ovid '  (she  laid  a  bitterly  strong  emphasis  on 


136  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

the  name,  and  flushed  angrily) — '  I  am  not  to 
let  Mr.  Ovid  and  Miss  Carmina  be  alone  to- 
gether.' 

'  You  are  a  good  guesser,'  Mrs.  Gallilee 
remarked  quietly. 

'  No,'  said  Miss  Minerva  more  quietly  still ; 
'  I  have  only  seen  what  you  have  seen.' 

'  Did  I  tell  you  what  I  have  seen  ?  ' 

'Quite  needless,  ma'am.  Your  son  is  in 
love  with  his  cousin.  When  am  I  to  be 
ready  ? ' 

The  bland  mistress  mentioned  the  hour. 
The  rude  governess  left  the  room. 

Mrs.  Gallilee  looked  at  the  closinj]^  door 
with  a  curious  smile.  She  had  already  sus- 
pected Miss  Minerva  of  being  crossed  in  love. 
The  suspicion  was  now  confirmed,  and  the  man 
was  discovered. 

'  Soured  by  a  hopeless  passion,'  she  said  to 
herself.     '  And  the  object  is — my  son.' 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  137 


CHAPTEE  XI. 

On  entering  the  Zoological  Gardens,  Ovid 
turned  at  once  to  the  right,  leading  Carmina 
to  the  aviaries,  so  that  she  might  begin  by 
seeing  the  bii'ds.  Miss  Minerva,  with  Maria 
in  dutiful  attendance,  followed  them.  Teresa 
kept  at  a  little  distance  behind ;  and  Zo  took 
her  own  erratic  course,  now  attaching  herself 
to  one  member  of  the  little  party,  and  now  to 
another. 

When  they  reached  tlie  aviaries  the  order 
of  march  became  confused ;  differences  in  the 
birds  made  their  appeal  to  differences  in  the 
taste  of  the  visitors.  Insatiably  eager  for 
useful  information,  that  prize-pupil  Maria  held 
her  governess  captive  at  one  cage;  while  Zo 


138  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

darted  away  towards  another,  out  of  reach  of 
discipline,  and  good  Teresa  volunteered  to 
bring  her  back.  For  a  minute,  Ovid  and  his 
cousin  were  left  alone.  He  might  have  taken 
a  lover's  advantage  even  of  that  small  oppor- 
tunity. But  -Carmina  had  something  to  say  to 
him — and  Carmina  spoke  first. 

'  Has  Miss  Minerva  been  your  mother's 
governess  for  a  long  time  ?  '  she  inquired. 

'  For  some  years,'  Ovid  rephed.  '  Will  you 
let  me  put  a  question  on  my  side  ?  Why  do 
you  ask  ? ' 

Carmina  hesitated — and  answered  in  a 
whisper,  '  She  looks  ill-tempered.' 

'  She  is  ill-tempered,'  Ovid  confessed.  '  I 
suspect,'  he  added  with  a  smile,  '  you  don't 
like  Miss  Minerva.' 

Carmina  attempted  no  denial;  her  excuse 
was  a  woman's  excuse  all  over :  '  She  doesn't 
like  me' 

*  How  do  you  know  ? ' 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  139 

'I  have  been  looking  at  her.  Does  she 
beat  the  children  ?  ' 

'My  dear  Carmina!  do  you  think  she 
would  be  my  mother's  governess  if  she  treated 
the  children  in  that  way  ?  Besides,  Miss 
Minerva  is  too  well-bred  a  woman  to  degrade 
herself  by  acts  of  violence.  Family  misfortunes 
have  very  materially  lowered  her  position  in 
the  world.' 

He  was  reminded,  as  he  said  those  words, 
of  the  time  when  Miss  Minerva  had  entered  on 
her  present  employment,  and  when  she  had 
been  the  object  of  some  httle  curiosity  on  his 
own  part.  Mrs.  Gallilee's  answer,  when  he 
once  asked  why  she  kept  such  an  irritable 
woman  in  the  house,  had  been  entirely  satis- 
factory, so  far  as  she  herself  was  concerned : 
'Miss  Minerva  is  remarkably  well  informed, 
and  I  get  her  cheap.'  Exactly  like  his  mother ! 
But  it  left  Miss  Minerva's  motives  involved  in 
Utter  obscurity.    Why  had  this  highly  cultivated 


I40  HEART  AND   SCIENCE. 

woman  accepted  an  inadequate  reward  for  her 
services,  for  years  together  ?  Why — to  take 
the  event  of  that  morning  as  another  example 
— after  plainly  showing  her  temper  to  her 
employer,  had  she  been  so  ready  to  submit  to 
a  suddenly  decreed  holiday,  which  disarranged 
her  whole  course  of  lessons  for  the  week  ? 
Little  did  Ovid  think  that  the  one  reconciling 
influence  which  adjusted  these  contradictions, 
and  set  at  rest  every  doubt  that  grew  out  of 
them,  was  to  be  found  in  himself.  Even  the 
humiliation  of  watching  him  in  his  mother's 
interest,  and  of  witnessing  his  devotion  to 
another  woman,  was  a  sacrifice  which  Miss 
Minerva  could  endure  for  the  one  inestimable 
privilege  of  being  in  Ovid's  company. 

Before  Carmina  could  ask  any  more  ques- 
tions a  shrill  voice,  at  its  highest  pitch  of 
excitement,  called  her  away.  Zo  had  just 
discovered  the  most  amusing  bird  in  the 
Gardens — the  low  comedian  of  the  feathered 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  141 

race  —  otherwise  known  as  the  Piphig 
Crow. 

Carmina  hurried  to  the  cage  as  if  she  had 
been  a  child  herself.  Seeing  Ovid  left  alone, 
the  governess  seized  her  chance  of  speaking  to 
him.  The  first  words  that  passed  her  lips  told 
their  own  story.  While  Carmina  had  been 
studying  Miss  Mmerva,  Miss  Minerva  had  been 
studying  Carmina.  Already,  the  same  instinc- 
tive sense  of  rivalry  had  associated,  on  a  com- 
mon ground  of  feeling,  the  two  most  dissimilar 
women  that  ever  breathed  the  breath  of  life. 

'  Does  your  cousin  know  much  about 
birds  ?  '  Miss  Minerva  began. 

The  opinion  which  declares  that  vanity  is  a 
failing  peculiar  to  the  sex  is  a  slander  on 
women.  All  the  world  over,  there  are  more 
vain  men  in  it  than  vain  women.  If  Ovid  had 
not  been  one  of  the  exceptions  to  a  general 
rule  among  men,  or  even  if  his  experience  of 
the  natures  of  women  had  been  a  little  less 


14'2  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

limited,  he  too  might  have  discovered  Miss 
Minerva's  secret.  Even  her  capacity  for  self- 
control  failed,  at  the  moment  when  she  took 
Carmina's  place.  Those  keen  black  eyes,  so 
hard  and  cold  when  they  looked  at  anyone  else 
— flamed  with  an  all-devouring  sense  of  pos- 
session when  they  first  rested  on  Ovid.  '  He's 
mine.  For  one  golden  moment  he's  mine ! ' 
They  spoke — and,  suddenly,  the  every-day 
bUnd  was  drawn  down  again ;  there  was  no- 
body present  but  a  well-bred  woman,  talking 
with  delicately  implied  deference  to  a  distin- 
guished man. 

'  So  far,  we  have  not  spoken  of  the  birds,' 
Ovid  innocently  answered. 

'  And  yet  you  seemed  to  be  both  looking  at 
them ! '  She  at  once  covered  this  unwary  out- 
break of  jealousy  under  an  impervious  surface 
of  compliment.  '  Miss  Carmina  is  not  perhaps 
exactly  pretty,  but  she  is  a  singularly  interest- 
ing girl.' 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  143 

Ovid  cordially  (too  cordially)  agreed. 
Miss  Minerva  had  presented  her  better  self  to 
him  under  a  most  agreeable  aspect.  She 
tried — struggled  —  fought  with  herself  —  to 
preserve  appearances.  The  demon  in  her  got 
possession  again  of  her  tongue.  '  Do  you  find 
the  young  lady  intelligent  ? '  she  inquired. 

'  Certainly ! ' 

Only  one  word — spoken  perhaps  a  little 
sharply.  The  miserable  woman  shrank  under 
it.  'An  idle  question  on  my  part,'  she  said, 
with  the  pathetic  humility  that  tries  to  be 
cheerful.  'And  another  warning,  Mr.  Vere, 
never  to  judge  by  appearances.'  She  looked 
at  him,  and  returned  to  the  children. 

Ovid's  eyes  followed  her  compassionately. 
'  Poor  wretch  ! '  he  thought.  '  What  an  in- 
fernal temper,  and  how  hard  she  tries  to 
control  it ! '  He  joined  Carmina,  with  a  new 
delight  in  being  near  her  again.  Zo  was  still 
in  ecstasies  over  the  Piping  Crow.     '  Oh,  the 


144  HEART  AND   SCIENCE. 

jolly  little  chap !  Look  liow  he  cocks  his 
head !  He  mocks  me  when  I  whistle.  Buy 
him,'  cried  Zo,  tugging  at  Ovid's  coat  tails  in 
the  excitement  that  possessed  her ;  '  buy  him, 
and  let  me  take  him  home  with  me  ! ' 

Some  visitors  within  hearing  began  to 
laugh.  Miss  Minerva  opened  her  lips ; 
Maria  opened  her  lips.  To  the  astonishment 
of  both  of  them  the  coming  rebuke  proved  to 
be  needless. 

A  sudden  transformation  to  silence  and 
docility  had  made  a  new  creature  of  Zo,  before 
they  could  speak — and  Ovid  had  unconsciously 
worked  the  miracle.  For  the  first  time  in  the 
child's  experience,  he  had  suffered  his  coat  tails 
to  be  pulled  without  immediately  attending  to 
her.  Who  was  he  looking  at?  It  was  only 
too  easy  to  see  that  Carmina  had  got  him  all  to 
herself.  The  jealous  little  heart  swelled  in  Zo"s 
bosom.  In  silent  perplexity  she  kept  watch  on 
the   friend   who  had   never  disappointed    her 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  MS 

before.  Little  by  little,  her  slow  intelligence 
began  to  realise  the  discovery  of  something  in 
his  face  which  made  him  look  handsomer  than 
ever,  and  which  she  had  never  seen  in  it  yet. 
They  all  left  the  aviaries,  and  turned  to  the 
railed  paddocks  in  which  the  larger  birds  were 
assembled.  And  still  Zo  followed  so  quietly, 
so  silently,  that  her  elder  sister — threatened 
with  a  rival  in  good  behaviour  —  looked  at  her 
in  undisguised  alarm. 

Incited  by  Maria  (who  felt  the  necessity  of 
vindicating  her  character)  Miss  Minerva  began 
a  dissertation  on  cranes,  suggested  by  the  birds 
with  the  brittle-looking  legs  hopping  up  to  her 
in  expectation  of  something  to  eat.  Ovid  was 
absorbed  in  attending  to  his  cousin ;  he  had 
provided  himself  with  some  bread,  and  was 
helping  Carmina  to  feed  the  birds.  But  one 
person  noticed  Zo,  now  that  her  strange  lapse 
into  good  behaviour  had  lost  the  charm  of 
novelty.      Old  Teresa  watched   her.      There 

VOL.  I.  L 


146  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

was  something  plainly  troubling  the  child 
in  secret ;  she  had  a  mind  to  know  what  it 
might  be. 

Zo  approached  Ovid  again,  determined  to 
understand  the  change  in  him  if  perseverance 
could  do  it.  He  was  talking  so  confidentially  to 
Carmina,  that  he  almost  whispered  in  her  ear. 
Zo  eyed  him,  without  daring  to  touch  his  coat 
tails  again.  Miss  Minerva  tried  hard  to  go  on 
composedly  with  the  dissertation  on  cranes. 
'  Flocks  of  these  birds,  Maria,  pass  periodically 
over   the   southern   and   central   countries    of 

Europe' Her    breath    failed    her,    as   she 

looked  at  Ovid :  she  could  say  no  more.  Zo 
stopped  those  maddening  confidences ;  Zo,  in 
desperate  want  of  information,  tugged  boldly 
at  Carmina's  skirts  this  time. 

The  young  girl  turned  round  directly. 
'  What  is  it,  dear  ?  ' 

With  big  tears  of  indignation  rising  in  her 
eyes,    Zo    pointed     to    Ovid.     'I    say ! '   she 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  147 

whispered,  'is   he   going   to   buy   the   Piping 
Crow  for  you  ?  ' 

To  Zo's  discomfiture  they  both  smiled. 
She  dried  her  eyes  with  her  fists,  and  waited 
doggedly  for  an  answer.  Carmina  set  the 
child's  mind  at  ease  veiy  prettily  and  kindly  ; 
and  Ovid  added  the  pacifying  influence  of  a 
famihar  pat  on  her  cheek.  Noticed  at  last, 
and  satisfied  that  the  bird  was  not  to  be 
bought  for  anybody,  Zo's  sense  of  injury  was 
appeased  ;  her  jealousy  melted  away  as  the 
next  result.  After  a  pause — produced,  as  her 
next  words  implied,  by  an  effort  of  memory — 
she  suddenly  took  Carmina  into  her  confidence. 

'  Don't  tell ! '  she  began.  '  I  saw  another 
man  look  like  Ovid.' 

'  When,  dear  ?  '  Carmina  asked — meaning, 
at  what  past  date. 

'When  his  face  was  close  to  yours,'  Zo 
answered — meaning,  under  what  recent  cir- 
cumstances. 

L  2 


148  HEART  AND   SCIENCE. 

Ovid,  hearing  this  reply,  knew  his  small 
sister  well  enough  to  foresee  embarrassing 
results  if  he  allowed  the  conversation  to  pro- 
ceed. He  took  Carmina's  arm,  and  led  her  a 
httle  farther  on. 

Miss  Minerva  obstinately  followed  them, 
with  Maria  in  attendance,  still  imperfectly  en- 
lightened on  the  migration  of  cranes.  Zo  looked 
round,  in  search  of  another  audience.  Teresa 
had  been  listening ;  she  was  present,  waiting  for 
events.  Being  herself  what  stupid  people  call '  an 
oddity,'  her  sympathies  were  attracted  by  this 
quaint  child.  In  Teresa's  opinion,  seeing  the 
animals  was  very  inferior,  as  an  amusement,  to 
exploring  Zo's  mind.  She  produced  a  cake  of 
chocolate,  from  a  travelling  bag  which  she 
carried  with  her  everywhere.  The  cake  was 
sweet,  it  was  flavoured  with  vanilla,  and  it  was 
offered  to  Zo,  unembittered  by  advice  not  to  be 
greedy  and  make  herself  ill.  Staring  hard  at 
Teresa,  she   took  an  experimental  bite.     The 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  149 

wily  duenna  chose  that  propitious  moment  to 
present  herself  in  the  capacity  of  a  new 
audience. 

'Who  was  that  other  man  you  saw,  who 
looked  like  Mr.  Ovid  ? '  she  asked  ;  speaking  in 
the  tone  of  serious  equality  which  is  always 
flattering  to  the  self-esteem  of  children  in  inter- 
course with  their  elders.  Zo  was  so  proud  of 
having  her  own  talk  reported  by  a  grown-up 
stranger,  that  she  even  forgot  the  chocolate. 
'I  wanted  to  say  more  than  that,'  she  an- 
nounced. '  Would  you  like  to  hear  the  end 
of  it  ? '  And  this  admirable  foreign  person 
answered,  '  I  should  very  much  like.' 

Zo  hesitated.  To  follow  out  its  own  little 
train  of  thought,  in  words,  ^vas  no  easy  task  to 
the  immature  mind  which  Miss  Minerva  had 
so  mercilessly  overworked.  Led  by  old  Dame 
Nature  (first  of  governesses!)  Zo  found  her 
way  out  of  the  labyrinth  by  means  of  ques- 
tions. 


ISO  HEART  AND   SCIENCE. 

*  Do  you  know  Joseph  ?  '  she  began. 

Teresa  had  heard  the  footman  called  by  his 
name :  she  knew  who  Joseph  was. 

'Do  you  know  Matilda ? '  Zo  proceeded. 

Teresa  had  heard  the  housemaid  called  by 
her  name  :  she  knew  who  Matilda  was.  And 
better  still,  she  helped  her  little  friend  by  a 
timely  guess  at  what  was  coming,  presented 
under  the  form  of  a  reminder.  '  You  saw 
Mr.  Ovid's  face  close  to  Carmina's  face,'  she 
suggested. 

Zo  nodded  furiously — the  end  of  it  was 
coming  already. 

'And  before  that,*  Teresa  went  on,  'you 
saw  Joseph's  face  close  to  Matilda's  face.' 

'  I  saw  Joseph  kiss  Matilda ! '  Zo  burst  out, 
with  a  scream  of  triumph.  '  Why  doesn't  Ovid 
kiss  Carmina  ? ' 

A  deep  bass  voice,  behind  them,  answered 
gravely :  '  Because  the  governess  is  in  the  way.' 
And  a  big  bamboo  walking-stick  pointed  over 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  151 

their  heads  at  Miss  Minerva.  Zo  instantly 
recognised  the  stick,  and  took  it  into  her  own 
hands. 

Teresa   turned — and  found  herself  in  the 
presence  of  a  remarkable  man. 


iji  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

In  the  first  place,  the  stranger  was  almost  tall 
enough  to  be  shown  as  a  giant ;  he  towered  to 
a  stature  of  six  feet  six  inches,  English  measure. 
If  his  immense  bones  had  been  properly  covered 
with  flesh,  he  might  have  presented  the  rare 
combination  of  fine  proportions  with  great 
height.  He  was  so  miserably — it  might  almost 
be  said,  so  hideously — thin  that  his  enemies 
spoke  of  him  as  '  the  living  skeleton.'  His 
massive  forehead,  his  great  gloomy  gray  eyes, 
his  protuberant  cheek-bones,  overhung  a  flesh- 
less  lower  face  naked  of  beard,  whiskers,  and 
moustache.  His  complexion  added  to  the 
startling  effect  which  his  personal  appearance 
produced   on  strangers.     It   was   of  the   true 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  153 

gipsy-brown,  and,  being  darker  in  tone  than 
his  eyes,  added  remarkably  to  the  weird  look, 
the  dismal  thoughtful  scrutiny,  which  it  was  his 
habit  to  fix  on  persons  talking  with  him,  no 
matter  whether  they  were  worthy  of  attention  or 
not.  His  straight  black  hair  hung  as  gracelessly 
on  either  side  of  his  hollow  face  as  the  hair  of 
an  American  Indian.  His  great  dusky  hands, 
never  covered  by  'gloves  in  the  summer  time, 
showed  amber-coloured  nails  on  bluntly-pointed 
fingers,  turned  up  at  the  tips.  Those  tips  felt 
like  satin  when  they  touched  you.  When  he 
wished  to  be  careful,  he  could  handle  the  frailest 
objects  with  the  most  exquisite  delicacy.  His 
dress  was  of  the  recklessly  loose  and  easy  kind. 
His  long  frock-coat  descended  below  his  knees ; 
his  flowing  trousers  were  veritable  bags ;  his 
lean  and  wrinkled  throat  turned  about  in  a 
widely-opened  shirt-collar,  unconfined  by  any 
sort  of  neck-tie.  He  had  a  theory  that  a  licad- 
dress  should  be  solid  enough  to  resist  a  chance 


154  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

blow — a  fall  from  a  horse,  or  the  dropping  of  a 
loose  brick  from  a  house  under  repair.  His 
hard  black  hat,  broad  and  curly  at  the  brim, 
might  have  graced  the  head  of  a  bishop,  if  it 
had  not  been  secularised  by  a  queer  resemblance 
to  the  bell-shaped  hat  worn  by  dandies  in  the 
early  years  of  the  present  century.  In  one 
word  he  was,  both  in  himself  and  in  his  dress, 
the  sort  of  man  whom  no  stranger  is  careless 
enough  to  pass  without  turning  round  for  a 
second  look.  Teresa,  eyeing  him  with  reluctant 
ciuriosity,  drew  back  a  step,  and  privately  reviled 
him  (in  the  secrecy  of  her  own  language)  as  an 
ugly  beast !  Even  his  name  startled  people  by 
the  outlandish  sound  of  it.  Those  enemies  who 
called  him  '  the  living  skeleton '  said  it  revealed 
his  gipsy  origin.  In  medical  and  scientific 
circles  he  was  well  and  widely  known  as — 
Doctor  Benjulia. 

Zo  ran  away  with  his  bamboo  stick.     After 
a  passing  look   of  gloomy  indifference  at  the 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  155 

duenna,  he  called  to  the  child  to  come 
back. 

She  obeyed  him  in  an  oddly  indirect  way,  as 
if  she  had  been  returning  against  her  will.  At 
the  same  time  she  looked  up  in  his  face,  with 
an  absence  of  shyness  which  showed,  like  the 
snatching  away  of  his  stick,  that  she  was 
familiarly  acquainted  with  him,  and  accus- 
tomed to  take  liberties.  And  yet  there  was  an 
expression  of  uneasy  expectation  in  lier  round 
attentive  eyes.  '  Do  you  want  it  back  again  ? ' 
she  asked,  offering  the  stick. 

*  Of  course  I  do.  What  would  your  mother 
say  to  me,  if  you  tumbled  over  my  big  bamboo, 
and  dashed  out  your  brains  on  this  hard  gravel 
walk  ? ' 

'  Have  you  been  to  see  Mama  ? '    Zo  asked. 

'  I  have  not  been  to  see  Mama — but  I  know 
what  she  would  say  to  me  if  you  dashed  out 
your  brains,  for  all  that.' 

'  What  would  she  say  ? ' 


iS^  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

*  She  would  say — Doctor  Benjulia,  your 
name  ought  to  be  Herod.' 

'  Who  was  Herod  ? ' 

'  Herod  was  a  Koyal  Jew,  who  killed  little 
girls  when  they  took  away  his  walking-stick. 
Come  here,  child.     Shall  I  tickle  you  ? ' 

'  I  knew  you'd  say  that,'  Zo  answered. 

When  men  in  general  thoroughly  enjoy  the 
pleasure  of  talking  nonsense  to  children,  they 
can  no  more  help  smiling  than  they  can  help 
breathing.  The  doctor  was  an  extraordinary 
exception  to  this  rule  ;  his  grim  face  never 
relaxed — not  even  when  Zo  reminded  him  that 
one  of  his  favourite  recreations  was  tickling 
her.  She  obeyed,  however,  with  the  curious 
appearance  of  reluctant  submission  showing 
itself  once  more.  He  put  two  of  his  soft  big 
finger-tips  on  her  spine,  just  below  the  back  of 
her  neck,  and  pressed  on  the  place.  Zo  started 
and  wriggled  under  his  touch.  He  observed 
her  with  as  serious  an  interest  as  if  he  liad  been 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  157 

conducting  a  medical  experiment,  '  That's 
how  you  make  our  dog  kick  with  liis  leg,'  said 
Zo,  recalUng  her  experience  of  the  doctor  in 
the  society  of  the  dog.  '  How  do  you  do 
it?' 

'I  touch  the  Cervical  Plexus,'  Doctor 
Benjulia  answered  as  gravely  as  ever. 

This  attempt  at  mystifying  the  child  failed 
completely.  Zo  considered  the  unknown 
tongue  in  which  he  had  answered  her  as  being 
equivalent  to  lessons.  She  declined  to  notice 
the  Cervical  Plexus,  and  returned  to  the  little 
terrier  at  home.  '  Do  you  think  the  dog  likes 
it  ? '  she  asked. 

'  Never  mind  the  dog.     Do  you  like  it  ? 

'  I  don't  know.' 

Doctor  Benjulia  turned  to  Teresa.  His 
gloomy  gray  eyes  rested  on  lier,  as  they  might 
have  rested  on  any  inanimate  object  near  him 
— on  the  railings  that  imprisoned  the  birds,  or 
on  the  pipes  that  kept  the  monkey-house  warm. 


158  HEART  AND  SCIENCE, 

*  I  have  been  playing  the  fool,  ma'am,  with  this 
child,'  he  said  ;  '  and  I  fear  I  have  detained  you. 
I  beg  your  pardon.'  He  pulled  off  his  episco- 
pal hat,  and  walked  grimly  on,  without  taking 
any  further  notice  of  Zo. 

Teresa  made  her  best  courtesy  in  return. 
The  magnificent  civility  of  the  ugly  giant 
daunted,  while  it  flattered  her.  '  The  manners 
of  a  prince,'  she  said,  '  and  the  complexion  of  a 
gipsy.     Is  he  a  nobleman  ? ' 

Zo  answered,  'He's  a  doctor,' — as  if  that 
was  something  much  better. 

'  Do  you  like  him  ? '  Teresa  inquired  next. 

Zo  answered  the  duenna  as  she  had 
answered  the  doctor  :  '  I  don't  know.' 

In  the  meantime,  Ovid  and  his  cousin  had 
not  been  unobservant  of  what  was  passing  at  a 
little  distance  from  them.  Benjuha's  great 
height,  and  his  evident  familiarity  wath  the 
child,  stirred  Carmina's  curiosity. 

Ovid  seemed  to  be  disinclined  to  talk  of  him. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  159 

Miss  Minerva  made  herself  useful,  with  the 
readiest  politeness.  She  mentioned  his  odd 
name,  and  described  him  as  one  of  Mrs. 
Gallilee's  old  friends.  '  Of  late  years,'  she 
proceeded,  '  he  is  said  to  have  discontinued 
medical  practice,  and  devoted  himself  to 
chemical  experiments.  Nobody  seems  to  knoAv 
much  about  him.  He  has  built  a  house  in  a 
desolate  field — in  some  lost  suburban  neis-h- 
bourhood  that  nobody  can  discover.  In  plain 
English,  Dr.  Benjulia  is  a  mystery.' 

Hearing  this,  Carmina  appealed  again  to 
Ovid. 

'  When  I  am  asked  riddles,'  she  said,  '  I 
am  never  easy  till  the  answer  is  guessed  lor 
me.  And  when  I  hear  of  mysteries,  I  am 
dying  to  have  them  revealed.  You  are  a 
doctor  yourself.  Do  tell  me  something 
more ! ' 

Ovid  might  have  evaded  her  entreaties  by 
means  of  an  excuse.     But  her  eyes  were  irre- 


l6o  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

sistible  :  they  looked  him  into  submission  in  an 
instant. 

'  Doctor  Benjulia  is  what  we  call  a 
Specialist,'  he  said.  '  I  mean  that  he  only 
professes  to  treat  certain  diseases.  Brains  and 
nerves  are  Benjiilia's  diseases.  Without  quite 
^scontinuing  his  medical  practice,  lie  limits 
himself  to  serious  cases — when  other  doctors 
are  puzzled,  you  know,  and  want  him  to  help 
them.  With  this  exception,  he  has  certainly 
sacrificed  his  professional  interests  to  his  mania 
for  experiments  in  chemistry.  What  those 
experiments  are,  nobody  knows  but  himself. 
He  keeps  the  key  of  his  laboratory  about  him 
by  day  and  by  night.  Wlien  the  place  wants 
cleaning,  he  does  the  cleaniog  with  his  own 
hands.' 

Carmina  listened  with  great  interest :  '  Has 
nobody  peeped  in  at  the  windows  .^  '  she  asked. 

'  There  are  no  windows — only  a  skylight  in 
the  roof.' 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  i6i 

'  Can't  somebody  get  up  on  the  roof,  and 
look  in  through  the  skyhght  ?  ' 

Ovid  laughed.  '  One  of  his  men-servants 
is  said  to  have  tried  that  experiment,'  he 
replied. 

'  And  what  did  the  servant  see  ? ' 

'  A  large  white  blind,  drawn  under  the  sky- 
light, and  hiding  the  whole  room  from  view. 
Somehow,  the  doctor  discovered  him — and  the 
man  was  instantly  dismissed.  Of  course  there 
are  reports  which  explain  the  mystery  of  the 
doctor  and  his  laboratory.  One  report  says 
that  he  is  trying  to  find  a  way  of  turning 
common  metals  into  gold.  Another  declares 
that  he  is  inventing  some  explosive  compound, 
so  horribly  destructive  that  it  will  put  an  end 
to  war.  All  I  can  tell  you  is,  that  his  mind 
(when  I  happen  to  meet  him)  seems  to  be  as 
completely  absorbed  as  ever  in  brains  and 
nerves.  But,  wliat  they  can  have  to  do  with 
chemical    experiments,  secretly   pursued   in   a 

VOL.  I.  M 


i62  HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  ~    ^ 

lonely  field,  is  a  riddle  to  which  I  have  thus  far 
found  no  answer. 

'  Is  he  married  ?  '  Carmina  inquired. 
The  question  seemed  to  amuse  Ovid.  '  If 
Doctor  Benjulia  had  a  wife,  you  think  we 
might  get  at  his  secrets  ?  There  is  no  such 
chance  for  us — he  manages  his  domestic  affairs 
for  himself.' 

'  Hasn't  he  even  got  a  housekeeper  ? ' 
'Not  even  a  housekeeper  ! ' 
While  he  was  making  that  reply,  he  saw 
the   doctor   slowly   advancing   towards   them. 
'  Excuse  me  for  one  minute,'  he  resumed  ;  '  I 
will  just  speak  to  him,  and  come  back  to  you.' 
Carmina  turned  to   Miss  Minerva   in  sur- 
prise. 

*  Ovid  seems  to  have  some  reason  for  keep- 
ing the  tall  man  away  from  us,'  she  said. 
*  Does  he  dislike  Doctor  Benjulia.? ' 

But  for  restraining  motives,  the  governess 
might  have  gratified  her  hatred  of  Carmina  by 


HEART  AND   SCIENCE.  163 

a  sharp  reply.  She  had  her  reasons — uot  only 
after  what  she  had  overheard  in  the  conserva- 
tory, but  after  what  she  had  seen  in  the 
Gardens — for  winning  Carmina's  confidence, 
and  exercising  over  her  the  influence  of  a 
trusted  friend.  Miss  Minerva  made  instant  use 
of  her  first  opportunity. 

'  I  can  tell  you  what  I  have  noticed  myself,' 
she  said  confidentially.  '  When  Mrs.  Gallilee 
gives  parties',  I  am  allowed  to  be  present — to 
see  the  famous  professors  of  science.  On  one 
of  these  occasions  they  were  talking  of  instinct 
and  reason.  Your  cousin,  Mr.  Ovid  Vere,  said 
it  was  no  easy  matter  to  decide  where  instinct 
ended  and  reason  began.  In  his  own  ex- 
perience, he  had  sometimes  found  people  of 
feeble  minds,  who  judged  by  instinct,  arrive  at 
sounder  conclusions  than  their  superiors  in 
intelligence,  who  judged  by  reason.  The  talk 
took  another  turn — and,  soon  after.  Doctor 
Benjulia   joined  the  guests.     I    don't    know 

K  2 


l64  HEART  AND   SCIENCE. 

whether  you  have  observed  that  Mr.  GaUilee  is 
very  fond  of  his  stepson  ?  ' 

Oh,  yes  !  Carmina  had  noticed  that.  'I  hke 
Mr.  Galhlee,'  she  said  warmly ;  '  he  is  such  a 
nice,  kind-hearted,  natural  old  man.' 

Miss  Minerva  concealed  a  sneer  under  a 
smile.  Fond  of  Mr.  Galhlee?  what  simpli- 
city !  '  Well,'  she  resumed,  '  the  doctor  paid 
his  respects  to  the  master  and  mistress  of  the 
house,  and  then  he  shook  hands  with  Mr. 
Ovid ;  and  then  the  scientific  gentlemen  all 
got  round  him,  and  had  learned  talk.  Mr. 
Gallilee  came  up  to  his  stepson,  looking  a  little 
discomposed.  He  spoke  in  a  whisper — you 
know  his  way  ? — "  Ovid,  do  you  like  Doctor 
Benjuha  ?  Don't  mention  it ;  I  hate  him." 
Strong  language  for  Mr.  Gallilee,  wasn't  it  ? 
Mr.  Ovid  said,  "  Why  do  you  hate  him  ? " 
And  poor  Mr.  Gallilee  answered  hke  a  child, 
"Because  I  do."  Some  ladies  came  in,  and 
the  old  gentleman  left  us  to  speak  to  them.     I 


HEART  AXD  SCIENCE.  165 

ventured  to  say  to  Mr.  Ovid,  "  Is  that  instinct 
or  reason?"  He  took  it  quite  seriously. 
"  Instinct,"  he  said — "  and  it  troubles  me."  I 
leave  you.  Miss  Carmina,  to  draw  your  own 
conclusion.' 

They  both  looked  up.  Ovid  and  the  doctor 
were  walking  slowly  away  from  them,  and 
were  just  passing  Teresa  and  the  child.  At  the 
same  moment,  one  of  the  keepers  of  the  animals 
approached  Benjulia.  After  they  had  talked 
together  for  a  while,  the  man  withdrew.  Zo 
(who  had  heard  it  all,  and  had  understood  a 
part  of  it)  ran  up  to  Carmina,  charged  with 
news. 

'  There's  a  sick  monkey  in  the  gardens,  in 
a  room  all  by  himself ! '  the  child  cried.  'And, 
I  say,  look  there ! '  She  pointed  excitedly  to 
Benjulia  and  Ovid,  walking  on  again  slowly  in 
the  direction  of  the  aviaries.  '  There's  the  big 
doctor  who  tickles  me  !  He  says  he'll  see  the 
poor  monkey,  as  soon  as  he's  done  with  Ovid. 


i66  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

And  what  do  you  think  he  said  besides  ?  He 
said  perhaps  he'd  take  the  monkey  home  with 
him.' 

'  I  wonder  what's  the  matter  with  the  poor 
creature  ?  '  Carmina  asked. 

'  After  what  Mr.  Ovid  has  told  us,  I  think 
I  know,'  Miss  Minerva  answered.  'Doctor 
Benjulia  wouldn't  be  interested  in  the  monkey 
unless  it  had  a  disease  of  the  brain.' 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  167 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 

Ovid  had  promised  to  return  to  Carmina  in  a 
minute.  The  minutes  passed,  and  still  Doctor 
Benjulia  held  him  in  talk. 

Now  that  he  was  no  longer  seeking  amuse- 
ment, in  his  own  dreary  way,  by  mystifying 
Zo,  the  lines  seemed  to  harden  in  the  doctor's 
fleshless  face.  A  scrupulously  polite  man,  he 
was  always  cold  in  his  politeness.  He  waited 
to  have  his  hand  shaken,  and  waited  to  be 
spoken  to.  And  yet,  on  this  occasion,  he  had 
something  to  say.  When  Ovid  opened  the 
conversation,  he  changed  the  subject  directly. 

*  Benjuha !  what  brings  You  to  the  Zoo- 
logical Gardens  ? ' 


1 68  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

'  One  of  the  monkeys  has  got  brain  disease  ; 
and  tliey  fancy  I  might  Hke  to  see  the  beast 
before  they  kill  him.  Have  you  been  thinking 
lately  of  that  patient  we  lost  ? ' 

Not  at  the  moment  remembering  the 
patient,  Ovid  made  no  immediate  reply.  The 
doctor  seemed  to  distrust  his  silence. 

'  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  have  forgotten 
the  case  ?  '  he  resumed.  '  We  called  it  hy- 
steria, not  knowing  what  else  it  was.  I  don't 
forgive  the  girl  for  slipping  through  our  fingers ; 
I  hate  to  be  beaten  by  Death,  in  that  way. 
Have  you  made  up  your  mind  what  to  do,  on 
the  next  occasion?  Perhaps  you  think  you 
could  have  saved  her  life  if  you  had  been  sent 
for,  now  ? ' 

'  No,  indeed,  I  am  just  as  ignorant ' 

'  Give  ignorance  time,'  Benjulia  interposed, 
'  and  ignorance  will  become  knowledge — if  a 
man  is  in  earnest.  The  proper  treatment  might 
occur  to  you  to-morrow.' 


I 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  169 

He  held  to  his  idea  with  such  obstinacy 
that  Ovid  set  him  right,  rather  impatiently. 
*  The  proper  treatment  has  as  much  chance  of 
occurring  to  the  greatest  ass  in  the  profession/ 
he  answered,  '  as  it  has  of  occurring  to  me.  I 
can  put  ray  mind  to  no  good  medical  use  ;  my 
work  has  been  too  much  for  me.  I  am  obliged 
to  give  up  practice,  and  rest — for  a  time.' 

Not  even  a  formal  expression  of  sympathy 
escaped  Doctor  Benjulia.  Having  been  a  dis- 
trustful friend  so  far,  he  became  an  inquisitive 
friend  now.  'You're  going  away,  of  course,' 
he  said.  '  Where  to  ?  On  the  Continent  ? 
Not  to  Italy — if  you  really  want  to  recover 
your  health ! ' 

'  What  is  the  objection  to  Italy  ?  ' 

The  doctor  put  his  great  hand  solemnly  on 
his  young  friend's  shoulder.  '  The  medical 
schools  in  that  country  are  recovering  their 
past  reputation,'  he  said.  '  They  are  becoming 
active  centres  of  physiological  inquiry.     You 


I70  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

will  be  dragged  into  it,  to  a  dead  certainty. 
They're  sure  to  try  what  they  can  strike  out 
by  collision  with  a  man  like  you.  What  will 
become  of  that  overworked  mind  of  yours, 
when  a  lot  of  professors  are  searching  it  with- 
out mercy  ?  Have  you  ever  been  to  Canada  ?  ' 
'  No.     Have  you  ?  ' 

'  I  have  been  everywhere.  Canada  is  just 
the  place  for  you,  in  this  summer  season. 
Bracing  air ;  and  steady-going  doctors  who 
leave  the  fools  in  Europe  to  pry  into  the  secrets 
of  Nature.  Thousands  of  miles  of  land,  if  you 
like  riding.  Thousands  of  miles  of  water,  if 
you  like  sailing.  Pack  up,  and  go  to  Canada.' 
What  did  all  this  mean?  Was  he  afraid 
that  his  colleague  might  stumble  on  some 
discovery  which  he  was  in  search  of  himself  ? 
And  did  the  discovery  relate  to  his  own  special 
subject  of  brains  and  nerves  ?  Ovid  made  an 
attempt  to  understand  him. 

'  Tell  me  something  about  yom'self,  Ben- 


HEART  AND   SCIENCE.  171 

julia,'  he  said.  'Are  you  returning  to  your 
regular  professional  work  ? ' 

Benjulia  struck  his  bamboo  stick  emphati- 
cally on  the  gravel-walk.  *  Never !  Unless  I 
know  more  than  I  know  now.' 

This  surely  meant  that  he  was  as  much 
devoted  to  his  chemical  experiments  as  ever? 
In  that  case,  how  could  Ovid  (who  knew 
nothing  of  chemical  experiments)  be  an  ob- 
stacle in  the  doctor's  way  ?  Baffled  thus  far, 
he  made  another  attempt  at  inducing  Benjulia 
to  explain  himself. 

'  When  is  the  world  to  hear  of  your  dis- 
coveries ? '  he  asked. 

The  doctor's  massive  forehead  gathered 
ominously  into  a  frown.  '  Damn  the  world  ! ' 
That  was  his  only  reply. 

Ovid  was  not  disposed  to  allow  himself  to 
be  kept  in  the  dark  in  this  way.  '  I  suppose 
you  are  going  on  with  your  experiments  ?  '  he 
said. 


172  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

The  gloom  of  Benjulia's  grave  eyes 
deepened  :  they  stared  with  a  stern  fixedness 
into  vacancy.  His  great  head  bent  slowly  over 
his  broad  breast.  The  whole  man  seemed  to 
be  shut  up  in  himself.  '  I  go  on  a  way  of  my 
own,'  lie  growled.     '  Let  nobody  cross  it.' 

After  that  reply,  to  persist  in  making 
inquiries  would  only  have  ended  in  needlessly 
provoking  an  irritable  man.  Ovid  looked  back 
towards  Carmina.  '  I  must  return  to  my 
friends,'  he  said. 

The  doctor  lifted  his  head,  like  a  man 
awakened.  'Have  I  been  rude?'  he  asked. 
'Don't  talk  to  me  about  my  experiments. 
That's  my  raw  place,  and  you  hit  me  on  it. 
What  did  you  say  just  now?  Friends?  who 
are  your  friends  ? '  He  rubbed  his  hand 
savagely  over  his  forehead — it  was  a  way  he 
had  of  clearing  his  mind.  '  I  know,'  he  went 
on.  '  I  saw  your  friends  just  now.  Who's  the 
young  lady?'     His  most  intimate  companions 


I 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  173 

had  never  heard,  him  laiigli  :  they  had  some- 
times seen  his  thin-hpped  mouth  widen  drearily 
into  a  smile.  It  widened  now.  '  Whoever  she 
is,'  he  proceeded,  ' Zo  wonders  why  you  don't 
kiss  her.' 

This  specimen  of  Benjulia's  attempts  at 
pleasantry  was  not  exactly  to  Ovid's  taste.  He 
shifted  the  topic  to  his  httle  sister.  '  You  were 
always  fond  of  Zo,'  he  said. 

Benjulia  looked  thoroughly  puzzled.  Fond- 
ness for  anybody  Avas,  to  all  appearance,  one  of 
the  few  subjects  on  which  he  had  not  qualified 
himself  to  offer  an  opinion.  He  gave  his  head 
another  savage  rub,  and  returned  to  the  subject 
of  the  young  lady.  '  Who  is  she  ?  '  he  asked 
again. 

'My  cousin,'  Ovid  replied  as  shortly  as 
possible. 

'  Your  cousin  ?  A  girl  of  Lady  North- 
lake's?' 

'  No  :  my  late  uncle's  daughter.' 


174  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

Benjulia   suddenly   came    to    a   standstill. 

*  What ! '  he  cried,  '  has  that  misbegotten  child 
grown  up  to  be  a  woman  ?  ' 

Ovid  started.  Words  of  angry  protest 
were  on  his  lips,  when  he  perceived  Teresa  and 
Zo  on  one  side  of  him,  and  the  keeper  of 
the  monkeys  on  the  other.  Benjulia  dismissed 
the  man,  with  the  favourable  answer  which  Zo 
had  already  reported.  They  walked  on  again. 
Ovid  was  at  Uberty  to  speak. 

'  Do  you  know  what  you  said  of  my  cousin, 
just  now  ? '  he  began. 

His   tone   seemed  to  surprise   the  doctor. 

*  What  did  I  say  ? '  he  asked. 

'You  used  a  very  offensive  word.  You 
called  Carmina  a  "  misbegotten  child."  Are 
you  repeating  some  vile  slander  on  the  memory 
of  her  mother  ?  ' 

Benjulia  came  to  another  standstill.  '  Slan- 
der ? '  he  repeated — and  said  no  more. 

Ovid's  anger  broke  out.    '  Yes ! '  he  replied. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  175 

'  Or  a  lie,  if  you  like,  told  of  a  woman  as  high 
above  reproach  as  your  mother  or  mine ! ' 

'  You  are  hot,'  the  doctor  remarked,  and 

walked  on  again.     '  When  I  was  in  Italy ' 

he  paused  to  calculate,  '  when  I  was  at  Kome, 
fifteen  years  ago,  your  cousin  was  a  wretched 
little  rickety  child.  I  said  to  Eobert  Gray- 
well,  "  Don't  get  too  fond  of  that  girl ;  she'll 
never  live  to  grow  up."  He  said  something 
about  taking  her  away  to  the  mountain  air.  I 
didn't  think,  myself,  the  mountain  air  would  be 
of  any  use.     It  seems  I  was  wrong.     Well ! 

it's  a  surprise  to  me  to  find  her '  he  waited, 

and  calculated  again,  '  to  find  her  grown  up  to 
be  seventeen  years  old.'  To  Ovid's  ears,  there 
was  an  inhuman  indifference  in  his  tone  as  he 
said  this,  which  it  was  impossible  not  to  resent, 
by  looks,  if  not  in  words.  Benjulia  noticed 
the  impression  that  he  had  produced,  without 
in  the  least  understanding  it.  '  Your  nervous 
system's  in  a  nasty  state,'  he  remarked ;  '  you 


176  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

had  better  take  care  of  yourself.     I'll  go  and 
look  at  the  monkey.' 

His  face  was  like  the  face  of  the  impene- 
trable sphinx ;  his  deep  bass  voice  droned 
placidly.  Ovid's  anger  had  passed  by  him  like 
the  passing  of  the  summer  air.  '  Good-bye  !/ 
he  said  ;  '  and  take  care  of  those  nasty  nerves. 
I  tell  you  again — they  mean  mischief.' 

Not  altogether  willingly,  Ovid  made  his 
apologies.  '  If  I  have  misunderstood  you,  I 
beg  your  pardon.  At  the  same  time,  1  don't 
think  I  am  to  blame.  Why  did  you  mislead 
me  by  using  that  detestable  word  ? ' 

'  Wasn't  it  the  right  word?  ' 

'  The  right  word — when  you  only  wanted 
to  speak  of  a  poor  sickly  child !  Considering 
that  you  took  your  degree  at  Oxford ' 

'  You  could  expect  nothing  better  from  the 
disadvantages  of  my  education,'  said  the  doctor, 
finishing  the  sentence  with  the  grave  composure 
that  distinguished  him.     '  When  I  said  "  mis- 


HEART  AND   SCIENCE.  177 

begotten,"  perhaps  I  ought  to  have  said  "  half- 
begotteu  ?  "  Thank  you  for  reminding  me. 
I'll  look  at  the  dictionary  when  I  get  home.' 

Ovid's  mind  was  not  set  at  ease  jet. 
'  There's  one  other  thing,'  he  persisted,  '  that 
seems  unaccountable,'  He  started,  and  seized 
Benjulia  by  the  arm.  '  Stop  ! '  he  cried,  with  a 
sudden  outburst  of  alarm. 

'  Well  ?  '  asked  the  doctor,  stopping  directly. 
*  What  is  it  ? ' 

'  Nothing,'  said  Ovid,  recoihng  from  a  stain 
on  the  gravel  walk,  caused  by  the  remains  of 
an  unlucky  beetle,  crushed  under  his  friend's 
heavy  foot.  '  You  trod  on  the  beetle  before  I 
could  stop  you.' 

Benjulia's  astonishment  at  finding  an  adult 
male  human  being  (not  in  a  lunatic  asylum) 
anxious  to  spare  the  life  of  a  beetle,  literally 
struck  him  speechless.  His  medical  instincts 
came  to  his  assistance.  '  You  had  belter  leave 
London   at   once,'   he   suggested.      '  Get   into 

VOL.  I.  N 


178  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

pure  air,  and  be  out  of  doors  all  day  long.' 
He  turned  over  the  remains  of  the  beetle  \vith 
the  end  of  his  stick.  '  The  common  beetle,'  he 
said ;  '  I  haven't  damaged  a  Specimen.' 

Ovid  returned  to  the  subject,  which  had 
suffered  interruption  through  his  abortive  little 
act  of  mercy.  '  You  knew  my  uncle  in  Italy. 
It  seems  strange,  Benjulia,  that  I  should  never 
have  heard  of  it  before.' 

'  Yes  ;  I  knew  your  uncle ;  and,'  he  added 
with  especial  emphasis,  '  I  knew  his  wife.' 

'Well?' 

'Well,   I   can't   say   I  felt  any  particular 
interest  in  either  of  them.     Nothing  happened 
afterwards  to  put  me  in  mind  of  the  acquaint 
ance  till  you  told  me  who  the  young  lady  was, 
just  now.' 

'  Surely  my  mother  must  have  reminded 
you?' 

'  Not  that  I  can "  remember.  Women  in 
her   position   don't  much   fancy  talking   of  a 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  179 

relative  wlio  has  married ' — he  stopped  to 
choose  his  next  words.  '  I  don't  want  to  be 
rude  ;  suppose  we  say  married  beneath  him  ?  ' 

Keflection  told  Ovid  that  this  was  true. 
Even  in  conversation  with  himself  (before  the 
arrival  in  England  of  Eobert's  Will),  his  mother 
rarely  mentioned  her  brother — and  still  more 
rarely  his  family.  There  was  another  reason 
for  Mrs.  Gallilee's  silence,  known  only  to  her- 
self. Eobert  was  in  the  secret  of  her  debts, 
and  Robert  had  laid  her  under  heavy  pecuniary 
obhgations.  The  very  sound  of  his  name  was 
revolting  to  his  amiable  sister  :  it  reminded 
her  of  that  humiliating  sense,  known  in  society 
as  a  sense  of  gratitude. 

Carmina  was  still  waiting — and  there  was 
nothing  further  to  be  gained  by  returning  to 
the  subject  of  her  mother  with  such  a  man 
as  Benjulia.  Ovid  held  out  his  hand  to  say 
good-bye. 

Taking  the  offered  hand   readily   enough, 

N  2 


i8o  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

the  doctor  repeated  his  odd  question — 'I 
haven't  been  rude,  have  I  ? ' — with  an  un- 
pleasant appearance  of  going  through  a  form 
purely  for  form's  sake.  Ovid's  natural  gene- 
rosity of  feeling  urged  him  to  meet  the 
advance,  strangely  as  it  had  been  made,  with 
a  friendly  reception. 

'  I  am  afraid  it  is  I  who  have  been  rude,'  he 
said.  'Will  you  go  back  with  me,  and  be 
introduced  to  Carmina  ? ' 

Beujulia  made  his  acknowledgments  in  his 
own  remarkable  way.  '  No,  thank  you,'  he 
said,  quietly,  '  I'd  rather  see  the  monkey.' 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

In  the  meantime,  Zo  had  become  the  innocent 
cause  of  a  difference  of  opinion  between  two 
no  less  dissimilar  personages  than  Maria  and 
the  duenna. 

Having  her  mind  full  of  the  sick  monkey, 
the  child  felt  a  natural  curiosity  to  see  the 
other  monkeys  who  were  well.  Amiable  Miss 
Minerva  consulted  her  young  friend  from  Italy 
before  she  comphed  with  Zo's  wishes.  Would 
Miss  Carmina  like  to  visit  the  monkey-house? 
Ovid's  cousin,  remembering  Ovid's  promise, 
looked  towards  the  end  of  the  walk.  He  was 
not  returning  to  her — he  was  not  even  in  sight. 
Carmina  resigned  herself  to  circumstances,  with 


i82  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

a  little  air  of  pique  which  was  duly  registered 
in  Miss  Minerva's  memory. 

Arriving  at  the  monkey-house,  Teresa 
apj)eared  in  a  new  character.  She  surprised 
her  companions  by  showing  an  interest  in 
natural  history. 

'Are  they  all  monkeys  in  that  big  place  ? ' 
she  asked.  '  I  don't  know  much  about  foreign 
beasts.     How  do  they  like  it,  I  wonder .?  ' 

This  comprehensive  inquiry  was  addressed 
to  the  governess,  as  the  most  learned  person 
present.  Miss  Minerva  referred  to  her  elder 
pupil  with  an  encouraging  smile.  '  Maria  will 
inform  you,'  she  said.  '  Her  studies  in  natural 
history  have  made  her  well  acquainted  with  the 
habits  of  monkeys.' 

Thus  authorised  to  exhibit  her  learning, 
even  the  discreet  Maria  actually  blushed  with 
pleasure.  It  was  that  young  lady's  most 
highly-prized  reward  to  display  her  knowledge 
(in  imitation   of   her    governess's   method   of 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  183 

instructioD)  for  the  benefit  of  unfortunate 
persons  of  the  lower  rank,  whose  education 
had  been  hnperfectly  earned  out.  The  tone  of 
amiable  patronage  with  which  she  now  im- 
parted useful  information  to  a  woman  old 
enough  to  be  her  grandmother,  would  have 
made  the  hands  of  the  bygone  generation  burn 
to  box  her  ears. 

*  The  monkeys  are  kept  in  large  and  airy 
cages,'  Maria  began ;  '  and  the  temperature 
is  regulated  with  the  utmost  care.  I  shall  be 
happy  to  point  out  to  you  the  difference 
between  the  monkey  and  the  ape.  You  are 
not  perhaps  aware  that  the  members  of  the 
latter  family  are  called  "  Simiadae,"  and  are 
without  tails  and  cheek-pouches  ? ' 

Listening  so  far  in  dumb  amazement,  Teresa 
checked  the  flow  of  information  at  tails  and 
cheek-pouches. 

'  What  gibberish  is  this  child  talking  to 
me  ? '  she  asked.     '  I  want  to  know  how  the 


-i84  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

monkeys  amuse  themselves  in  that  large 
house  ? ' 

Maria's  perfect  training  condescended  to 
enlighten  even  this  state  of  mind: 

*  They  have  ropes  to  swing  on,'  she 
answered  sweetly ;  '  and  visitors  feed  them 
through  the  wires  of  the  cage.  Branches  of 
trees  are  also  placed  for  their  diversion ;  re- 
minding many  of  them  no  doubt  of  the  vast 
tropical  forests  in  which,  as  w^e  learn  from 
travellers,  they  pass  in  flocks  from  tree  to  tree.' 

Teresa  held  up  her  hand  as  a  signal  to  stop. 
'  A  little  of  You,  my  young  lady,  goes  a  long 
way,'  she  said.  '  Consider  how  much  I  can 
hold,  before  you  cram  me  at  this  rate.' 

Maria  was  bewildered,  but  not  daunted  yet. 
'  Pardon  me,'  she  pleaded  ;  '  I  fear  I  don't 
quite  understand  you.' 

'  Then  there  are  two  of  us  puzzled,'  the 
duenna  remarked.  '  /  don't  understand  you. 
I  shan't  go  into  that  house.     A  Christian  can't 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  185 

be  expected  to  care  about  beasts — but  right  is 
right  all  the  world  over.  Because  a  monkey 
is  a  nasty  creature  (as  I  have  heard,  not  even 
good  to  eat  when  he's  dead),  that's  no  reason 
for  taking  him  out  of  his  own  country  and 
putting  him  into  a  cage.  If  we  are  to  see 
creatures  in  prison,  let's  see  creatures  who  have 
deserved  it — men  and  women,  rogues  and 
sluts.  The  monkeys  haven't  deserved  it.  Go 
in — I'll  wait  for  you  at  the  door.' 

Setting  her  bitterest  emphasis  on  this  pro- 
test, which  expressed  inveterate  hostility  to 
Maria  (using  compassion  for  caged  animals  as 
the  readiest  means  at  hand),  Teresa  seated 
herself  in  triumph  on  the  nearest  bench. 

A  young  person,  possessed  of  no  more  than 
ordinary  knowledge,  might  have  left  the  old 
woman  to  enjoy  the  privilege  of  saying  the  last 
word.  Miss  Minerva's  pupil,  exuding  informa- 
tion as  it  were  at  every  pore  in  her  skin,  had 
been   rudely  diied   up   at   a  moment's  notice. 


i86  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

Even   earthly  perfection   has   its  weak   places 
within  reach.     Maria  lost  her  temper. 

'  You  will  allow  me  to  remind  yon,'  she 
said,  '  that  intelligent  curiosity  leads  us  to 
study  the  habits  of  animals  that  are  new  to  us. 
We  place  them  in  a  cage ' 

Teresa  lost  her  temper. 

'  You're  an  animal  that's  new  to  me,'  cried 
the  irate  duenna.  '  I  never  in  all  my  life  met 
with  such  a  child  before.  If  you  please, 
madam  governess,  put  this  girl  into  a  cage. 
My  intelligent  ciuriosity  wants  to  study  a 
monkey  that's  new  to  me.' 

It  was  fortunate  for  Teresa  that  she  was 
Carmina's  favourite  and  friend,  and,  as  such,  a 
person  to  be  carefully  handled.  Miss  Minerva 
stopped  the  growing  quarrel  with  the  readiest 
discretion  and  good-feeling.  She  patted  Teresa 
on  the  shoulder,  and  looked  at  Carmina  with  a 
pleasant  smile.  '  Worthy  old  creature !  how 
full   of  humour   she  is!     The   energy  of  the 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  187 

people,  Miss  Carmina.  I  often  remark  the 
quaint  force  with  which  they  express  their 
ideas.  No — not  a  word  of  apology,  I  beg  and 
pray.  Maria,  my  dear,  take  your  sister's  hand, 
and  we  will  follow.'  She  put  her  arm  in 
Carmina's  arm  with  the  happiest  mixture  of 
famiUarity  and  respect,  and  she  nodded  to 
Carmina's  old  companion  with  the  cordiality  of 
a  good-humoiu-ed  friend. 

Teresa  was  not  further  irritated  by  being 
kept  waiting  for  any  length  of  time.  In  a  few 
minutes  Carmina  joined  her  on  the  bench. 

'  Tired  of  the  beasts  already,  my  pretty 
one  ? ' 

'  Worse  than  tired  —  driven  away  by  the 
smell !  Dear  old  Teresa,  why  did  you  speak 
so  roughly  to  Miss  Minerva  and  Maria  .^ ' 

'  Because  I  hate  them !  because  I  hate  the 
family !  Was  your  poor  fiither  demented  in 
his  last  moments,  when  he  trusted  you  among 
these  detestable  people  ?  ' 


i88  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

Carmina  listened  in  astonishment.  'You 
said  just  the  contrary  of  the  family,'  she 
exclaimed,  '  only  yesterday ! ' 

Teresa  hung  her  head  in  confusion.  Her 
well-meant  attempt  to  reconcile  Carmina  to  the 
new  hfe  on  which  she  had  entered  was  now 
revealed  as  a  sham,  thanks  to  her  own  out- 
break of  temper.  The  one  honest  alternative 
left  was  to  own  the  truth,  and  put  Carmina  on 
her  guard  without  alarming  her,  if  possible. 

'  I'll  never  tell  a  lie  again,  as  long  as  I 
live,'  Teresa  declared.  '  You  see  I  didn't  like 
to  discourage  you.  After  all,  I  dare  say  I'm 
more  wrong  than  right  in  my  opinion.  But  it 
is  my  opinion,  for  all  that.  I  hate  those 
women,  mistress  and  governess,  both  alike. 
There !  now  it's  out.  Are  you  angry  with 
me? ' 

'  I  am  never  angry  with  you,  my  old 
friend ;  I  am  only  a  little  vexed.  Don't  say 
you  hate  people,  after  only  knowing  them  for 


HEART  AND   SCIENCE.  189 

a  clay  or  two !  I  am  sure  Miss  Minerva  has 
been  very  kind — to  me,  as  well  as  to  you.  I  feel 
ashamed  of  myself  already  for  having  begun  by 
disliking  her.' 

Teresa  took  lier  young  mistress's  hand,  and 
patted  it  compassionately.  '  Poor  iunocent,  if 
you  only  had  my  experience  to  help  you! 
There  are  good  ones  and  bad  ones  among  all 
creatures.  I  say  to  you  the  Gaililees  are  bad 
ones!  Even  their  music-master  (I  saw  him 
this  morning)  looks  like  a  rogue.  You  will 
tell  me  the  poor  old  gentleman  is  harmless, 
surely.  I  shall  not  contradict  that — I  shall 
only  ask,  what  is  the  use  of  a  man  who  is  as 
weak  as  water  ?  Oh,  I  hke  him,  but  I  distin- 
guish !  I  also  hke  Zo.  But  what  is  a  child — 
especially  when  tliat  beastly  governess  has 
muddled  her  unfortunate  little  head  with  learn- 
ing? No,  my  angel,  there's  but  one  person 
among  these  people  who  comforts  me,  when  I 
think  of  the  day  that  will  part  us.     Ha !  do  I 


190  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

see  a  little  colour  coming  into  your  cheeks? 
You  sly  girl !  you  know  who  it  is.  There  is 
what  I  call  a  Man  !  If  I  was  as  young  as  you 
are,  and  as  pretty  as  you  are ' 

A  warning  gesture  from  Carmina  closed 
Teresa's  Hps.  Ovid  was  rapidly  approaching 
them. 

He  looked  a  little  annoyed,  and  he  made 
his  apologies  without  mentioning  the  doctor's 
name.  His  cousin  was  interested  enough 
in  him  already  to  ask  herself  Avhat  this 
meant.  Did  he  really  dislike  Benjulia,  and 
had  there  been  some  disagreement  between 
them? 

'  Was  the  tall  doctor  so  very  interesting  ?  ' 
she  ventured  to  inquire. 

'  Not  in  the  least ! '  He  answered  as  if 
the  subject  was  disagreeable  to  him — and  yet 
he  returned  to  it.  '  By-the-by,  did  you  ever 
hear  Benjulia's  name  mentioned,  at  home  in 
Italy?' 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  191 

'  Never !  Did  lie  know  my  father  and 
mother  ? ' 

'  He  says  so.' 

'  Oh,  do  introduce  me  to  him  ! ' 

'  We  must  wait  a  httle.  He  prefers  being 
introduced  to  the  monkey  to-day.  Where  are 
Miss  Mnerva  and  the  children  ?  ' 

Teresa  replied.  She  pointed  to  the  monkey- 
house,  and  then  drew  Ovid  aside.  '  Take  her 
to  see  some  more  birds,  and  trust  me  to  keep 
the  governess  out  of  your  way,'  whispered  the 
good  creature.  '  Make  love — hot  love  to  her, 
doctor ! ' 

In  a  minute  more  the  cousins  were  out  of 
sight.  How  are  you  to  make  love  to  a  young 
girl,  after  an  acquaintance  of  a  day  or  two  ? 
The  question  would  have  been  easily  answered 
by  some  men.     It  thoroughly  puzzled  Ovid. 

'  I  am  so  glad  to  get  back  to  you  !  '  he  said, 
honestly  opening  his  mind  to  her.  '  Were  you 
half  as  glad  when  you  saw  me  return  ?  ' 


192  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

He  knew  nothing  of  the  devious  and 
serpentine  paths  by  which  love  finds  the  way 
to  its  ends.  It  had  not  occurred  to  him  to 
approach  her  with  those  secret  tones  and 
stolen  looks  which  speak  for  themselves.  She 
answered  with  the  straightforward  directness  of 
which  he  had  set  the  example. 

'  I  hope  you  don't  think  me  insensible  to 
your  kindness,'  she  said.  '  I  am  more  pleased 
and  more  proud  than  I  can  tell  you.' 

'  Proud  ?  '  Ovid  repeated,  not  immediately 
understanding  her. 

'  Why  not  ?  '  she  asked.  '  My  poor  father 
used  to  say  you  would  be  an  honour  to  tlie 
family.  Ought  I  not  to  be  proud,  when  I  find 
such  a  man  taking  so  much  notice  of  me  ?  ' 

She  looked  up  at  him  shyly.  At  that 
moment,  he  would  have  resigned  all  his 
prospects  of  celebrity  for  the  privilege  of 
kissing  her.  He  made  another  attempt  to 
bring  her — in  spirit — a  little  nearer  to  him. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  193 

'  Cannina,  do  you  remember  where  you  first 
saw  me  ? ' 

'  How  can  you  ask  ? — it  was  in  the  concert- 
room.  When  I  saw  you  there,  I  remembered 
passing  you  in  the  large  Square.  It  seems  a 
strange  coincidence  that  you  should  have  gone 
to  the  very  concert  that  Teresa  and  I  went  to 
by  accident.' 

Ovid  ran  the  risk,  and  made  his  confession. 
'  It  was  no  coincidence,'  he  said.  '  After  our 
meeting  in  the  Square  I  followed  you  to  the 
concert.' 

This  bold  avowal  would  have  confused  a 
less  innocent  girl.  It  only  took  Carmina  by 
surprise. 

'  What  made  you  follow  us  ? '  she  asked. 

Us  ?  Did  she  suppose  he  had  followed  the 
old  woman  ?  Ovid  lost  no  time  in  setting  her 
right.  '  I  didn't  even  see  Teresa,'  he  said.  '  I 
followed  You.' 

She  was  silent.      What   did    her    silence 

VOL.  I.  O 


194  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

mean?  Was  she  coufused,  or  was  she  still 
at  a  loss  to  understand  him?  That  morbid 
sensitiveness,  which  was  one  of  the  most  serious 
signs  of  his  failing  health,  was  by  this  time 
sufficiently  irritated  to  hurry  him  into  extre- 
mities. '  Did  you  ever  hear,'  he  asked,  '  of 
such  a  thing  as  love  at  first  sight  ? ' 

She  started.  Surprise,  confusion,  doubt, 
succeeded  each  other  in  rapid  changes  on  her 
mobile  and  delicate  face.  Still  silent,  she 
roused  her  courage,  and  looked  at  him. 

If  he  had  returned  the  look,  he  would  have 
told  the  story  of  his  first  love  without  another 
word  to  help  him.  But  his  shattered  nerves 
unmanned  him,  at  the  moment  of  all  others 
when  it  was  his  interest  to  be  bold.  The  fear 
that  he  might  have  allowed  himself  to  speak 
too  freely — a  weakness  which  would  never  have 
misled  him  in  his  days  of  health  and  strength — 
kept  his  eyes  on  the  ground.  She  looked  away 
again  with  a  quick  flush   of  shame.     When 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  195 

such  a  man  as  Ovid  spoke  of  love  at  first  sight, 
what  an  instance  of  her  own  vanity  it  was  to 
have  thought  that  his  mind  was  dwelhng  on 
lier !  He  had  kindly  lowered  himself  to  the 
level  of  a  girl's  intelligence,  and  had  been 
trying  to  interest  her  by  talking  the  language 
of  romance.  She  was  so  dissatisfied  with 
herself  that  she  made  a  movement  to  turn 
back. 

He  was  too  bitterly  disappointed,  on  his 
side,  to  attempt  to  prolong  the  interview.  A 
deadly  sense  of  weakness  was  beginning  to 
overpower  him.  It  was  the  inevitable  result 
of  his  utter  want  of  care  for  himself.  After  a 
sleepless  night,  he  had  taken  a  long  walk  before 
breakfast ;  and  to  these  demands  on  his  failing 
reserves  of  strength,  he  had  now  added  the 
fatigue  of  dawdling  about  a  garden.  Physically 
and  mentally  he  had  no  energy  left. 

'  I  didn't  mean  it,'  he  said  to  Carmina  sadly ; 
'  I  am  afraid  I  have  offended  you.' 

o2 


196  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

'  Oil,  how  little  you  know  me,'  she  cried, 
*  if  you  think  that ! ' 

This  time  their  eyes  met.  The  truth 
dawned  on  her — and  he  saw  it. 

He  took  her  hand.  The  clammy  coldness 
of  his  grasp  startled  her.  '  Do  you  still  wonder 
why  I  followed  you  ?  '  he  asked.  The  words 
were  so  faintly  uttered  that  she  could  barely 
hear  them.  Heavy  drops  of  perspiration  stood 
on  his  forehead ;  his  face  faded  to  a  gray  and 
ghastly  whiteness — he  staggered,  and  tried  des- 
perately to  catch  at  the  branch  of  a  tree  near 
them.  She  threw  her  arms  round  him.  With 
all  her  httle  strength  she  tried  to  hold  him  up. 
Her  utmost  effort  only  availed  to  drag  him  to 
the  grass  plot  by  their  side,  and  to  soften  his 
fall.  Even  as  the  cry  for  help  passed  her  lips, 
she  saw  help  coming.  A  tall  man  was  ap- 
proaching her — not  running,  even  when  he  saw 
what  had  happened  ;  only  stalking  with  long 
strides.    He  was  followed  by  one  of  the  keepers 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  197 

of  the  gardens.  Doctor  Beiijiilia  had  his  sick 
monkey  to  take  care  of.  He  kept  the  creature 
sheltered  under  his  long  frock-coat. 

'  Don't  do  that,  if  you  please,'  was  all  the 
doctor  said,  as  Carmina  tried  to  lift  Ovid's 
head  from  the  grass.  He  spoke  with  his 
customary  composure,  and  laid  his  hand  on  the 
heart  of  the  fainting  man,  as  coolly  as  if  it  had 
been  the  heart  of  a  stranger.  '  Which  of  you 
two  can  run  the  fastest  ? '  he  asked,  looking 
backwards  and  forwards  between  Carmina  and 
the  keeper.     '  I  want  some  brandy.' 

The  refreshment  room  was  within  sight. 
Before  the  keeper  quite  understood  what  was 
required  of  him,  Carmina  was  speeding  over 
the  grass  like  Atalanta  herself. 

Benjulia  looked  after  her,  with  his  usual 
grave  attention.  '  That  wench  can  run,'  he 
said  to  himself,  and  turned  once  more  to  Ovid. 
'  In  his  state  of  health,  he's  been  fool  enough 
to  over-exert  himself     So  he  disposed  of  the 


198  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

case  in  his  own  mind.  Having  done  that,  he 
remembered  the  monkey,  deposited  for  the 
time  being  on  the  grass.  '  Too  cold  for  him,' 
he  remarked,  with  more  appearance  of  interest 
than  he  had  shown  yet.  '  Here,  keeper ! 
Pick  up  the  monkey  till  I'm  ready  to  take  him 
again.'    The  man  hesitated. 

'  He  might  bite  me,  sir.' 

'  Pick  him  up  ! '  the  doctor  reiterated  ;  '  he 
can't  bite  anybody,  after  what  I've  done  to 
him.'  The  monkey  was  indeed  in  a  state  of 
stupor.  The  keeper  obeyed  his  instructions, 
looking  half  stupefied  himself:  he  seemed  to 
be  even  more  afraid  of  the  doctor  than  of  the 
monkey.  '  Do  you  think  I'm  the  Devil  ? ' 
Benjulia  asked  with  dismal  irony.  The  man 
looked  as  if  he  would  say  '  Yes,'  if  he  dared. 

Carmina  came  running  back  with  the 
brandy.  The  doctor  smelt  it  first,  and  then 
took  notice  of  her.  '  Out  of  breath  ?  '  he 
said. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  199 

'  Why  don't  you  give  him  the  brandy  ?  '  she 
answered  impatiently. 

'  Strong  lungs,'  Benjulia  proceeded,  sitting 
down  cross-legged  by  Ovid,  and  administering 
the  stimulant  without  hurrying  himself.  '  Some 
girls  would  not  have  been  able  to  speak,  after 
such  a  run  as  you  have  had.  I  didn't  think  much 
of  you  or  your  lungs  when  you  were  a  baby.' 

'  Is  he  coming  to  himself? '  Carmina  asked. 

'  Do  you  know  what  a  pump  is  ?  '  Benjulia 
rejoined.  '  Very  well ;  a  pump  sometimes  gets 
out  of  order.  Give  the  carpenter  time,  and 
he'll  put  it  right  again.'  He  let  his  mighty 
hand  di'op  on  Ovid's  breast.  '  This  pump  is 
out  of  order ;  and  I'm  the  carpenter.  Give  me 
time,  and  I'll  set  it  right  again.  You're  not  a 
bit  like  your  mother.' 

Watching  eagerly  for  the  slightest  signs  of 
recovery  in  Ovid's  face,  Carmina  detected  a 
faint  return  of  colour.  She  was  so  relieved 
that   she  was  able    to   listen   to    tlie   doctor's 


200  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

oddly  discursive  talk,  and  even  to  join  in  it. 
'  Some  of  our  friends  used  to  think  I  was  like 
my  father/  she  answered. 

'  Did  they  ? '  said  Benjulia — and  shut  his 
thin-lipped  mouth  as  if  he  was  determined  to 
drop  the  subject  for  ever. 

Ovid  stirred  feebly,  and  half  opened  his 
eyes. 

Benjulia  got  up.  '  You  don't  want  me  any 
longer,'  he  said.  '  Now,  Mr.  Keeper,  give  me 
back  the  monkey.'  He  dismissed  the  man,  and 
tucked  the  monkey  under  one  arm  as  if  it  had 
been  a  bundle.  '  There  are  your  friends,'  he 
resumed,  pointing  to  the  end  of  the  walk. 
« Good-day ! ' 

Carmina  stopped  him.  Too  anxious  to 
stand  on  ceremony,  she  laid  her  hand  on  his 
arm.  He  shook  it  off — not  angrily :  just 
brushing  it  away,  as  he  might  have  brushed 
away  the  ash  of  his  cigar  or  a  splash  of  mud  in 
the  street. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  201 

'  What  does  this  fainting  fit  mean  ? '  she 
asked  timidly.     '  Is  Ovid  going  to  be  ill  ? ' 

'  Seriously  ill — imless  you  do  the  right 
thing  with  him,  and  do  it  at  once.'  He 
walked  away.  She  followed  him,  humblj?-  and 
yet  resolutely.  '  Tell  me,  if  you  please,'  she 
said,  '  what  we  are  to  do.' 

He  looked  back  over  his  shoulder.  '  Send 
him  away.' 

She  returned,  and  knelt  down  by  Ovid — 
still  slowly  reviving.  With  a  fond  and  gentle 
hand,  she  wiped  the  moisture  from  his  fore- 
head. 

'  Just  as  we  were  beginning  to  understand 
eacli  other ! '  she  said  to  herself,  with  a  sad 
little  sieh. 


202  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 


CHAPTEE  XV. 

Two  days  passed.  In  spite  of  the  warnings 
that  he  had  received,  Ovid  remained  in 
London. 

The  indisputable  authority  of  Benjulia  had 
no  more  effect  on  him  than  the  unanswerable 
arguments  of  Mrs.  Gallilee.  '  Eecent  circum- 
stances'  (as  his  mother  expressed  it)  'had 
strengthened  his  infatuated  resistance  to  reason.' 
The  dreaded  necessity  for  Teresa's  departure  had 
been  hastened  by  a  telegram  from  Italy : 
Ovid  felt  for  Carmina's  distress  with  sympathies 
which  made  her  dearer  to  him  than  ever.  On 
the  second  morning  after  the  visit  to  the  Zoo- 
logical Gardens,  her  fortitude  had  been  severely 
tried.     She  had  found  the  telegram  under  her 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  203 

pillow,  enclosed  in  a  farewell  letter.     Teresa 
had  gone. 

'  My  Carmina, — I  have  kissed  you,  and  cried 
over  you,  and  I  am  writing  good-bye  as  well 
as  my  poor  eyes  will  let  me.  Oh,  my  heart's 
darling,  I  cannot  be  cruel  enough  to  wake  you, 
and  see  you  suffer !  Forgive  me  for  going  away, 
with  only  this  dumb  farewell.  I  am  so  fond  of 
you — that  is  my  only  excuse.  While  he  still 
lives,  my  helpless  old  man  has  his  claim  on  me. 
Write  by  every  post,  and  trust  me  to  write 
back — and  remember  what  I  said  when  I  spoke 
of  Ovid.  Love  the  good  man  who  loves  you  ; 
and  try  to  make  the  best  of  the  others.  They 
cannot  surely  be  cruel  to  the  poor  angel  who 
depends  on  their  kindness.  Oh,  how  hard  life 
is ' 

The  paper  was  blotted,  and  the  rest  was 
illegible. 

The  miserable  day  of  Teresa's  departure 
was  passed  by  Carmina  in  the  solitude  of  her 


204  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

room  :  gently  and  firmly,  she  refused  to  see 
anyone.  This  strange  conduct  added  to  Mrs. 
Gallilee's  anxieties.  Already  absorbed  in  con- 
sidering Ovid's  obstinacy,  and  the  means  of 
overcoming  it,  she  was  now  confronted  by  a 
resolute  side  in  the  character  of  her  niece, 
which  took  her  by  surprise.  There  might  be 
difficulties  to  come,  in  managing  Carmina, 
which  she  had  not  foreseen.  Meanwhile,  she 
was  left  to  act  on  her  own  unaided  discretion 
in  the  serious  matter  of  her  son's  failing  health. 
Benjulia  had  refused  to  help  her ;  he  was  too 
closely  occupied  in  his  laboratory  to  pay  or 
receive  visits.  '  I  have  already  given  my 
advice '  (the  doctor  wrote).  '  Send  him  away. 
When  he  has  had  a  month's  change,  let  me  see 
his  letters  ;  and  then,  if  I  have  anything  more 
to  say,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  think  of  your 
son.' 

Left  in  this  position,  Mrs.  Gallilee's  hard 
self-denial  yielded  to  the  one  sound  conclusion 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  20^ 

that  lay  before  her.  The  only  influence  that 
could  be  now  used  over  Ovid,  with  the 
smallest  chance  of  success,  was  the  influence  of 
Carmina.  Three  days  after  Teresa's  departure, 
she  invited  her  niece  to  take  tea  in  her  own 
boudoir,  Carmina  found  lier  reading.  'A 
charming  book,'  she  said,  as  she  laid  it  down, 
'on  a  most  interesting  subject.  Geographical 
Botany.  The  author  divides  the  earth  into 
twenty-five  botanical  regions — but,  I  forget ; 
you  are  not  like  Maria ;  you  don't  care  about 
these  things.' 

'I  am  so  ignorant,'  Carmina  pleaded. 
'Perhaps,  I  may  know  better  when  I  get 
older.'  A  book  on  the  table  attracted  her  by 
its  beautiful  binding.  She  took  it  up.  Mrs. 
Gallilee  looked  at  her  with  compassionate  good 
humour. 

'  Science  again,  my  dear,'  she  said  face- 
tiously, '  inviting  you  in  a  pretty  dress !  You 
have  taken  up  the  "  Curiosities  of  Coprolites." 


2o6  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

That  book  is  one  of  my  distinctions — a  presen- 
tation copy  from  the  author.' 

'  What  are  CoproHtes  ? '  Carmina  asked, 
trying  to  inform  herself  on  the  subject  of  her 
aunt's  distinctions. 

Still  good-humoured,  but  with  an  effort 
that  began  to  appear,  Mrs.  Gallilee  lowered 
herself  to  the  level  of  her  niece. 

'  Coprolites,'  she  explained,  '  are  the  fossi- 
lised indigestions  of  extinct  reptiles.  The  great 
philosopher  who  has  written  that  book  has 
discovered  scales,  bones,  teeth,  and  shells — the 
undigested  food  of  those  interesting  Saurians. 
What  a  man !  what  a  field  for  investigation ! 
Tell  me  about  your  own  reading.  What  have 
you  found  in  the  library  ?  ' 

'  Very  interesting  books — at  least  to  me,' 
Carmina  answered.  '  I  have  found  many 
volumes  of  poetry.  Do  you  ever  read 
poetry  ?  ' 

Mrs.  Gallilee  laid  herself  back  in  her  chair, 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  207 

and  submitted  patiently  to  her  niece's  sim- 
plicity. '  Poetry  ?  '  she  repeated,  in  accents  of 
resignation.     '  Oh,  good  heavens  ! ' 

Unlucky  Carmina  tried  a  more  promising 
topic.  'What  beautiful  flowers  you  have  in 
the  drawing-room  ! '  she  said. 

'  Nothing  remarkable,  my  dear.  Every- 
body has  flowers  in  their  drawing-rooms — 
they  are  part  of  the  furniture.' 

'  Did  you  arrange  them  yourself,  aunt  ?  ' 

Mrs.  Gallilee  still  endured  it.  '  The  florist's 
man,'  she  said,  '  does  all  that.  I  sometimes 
dissect  flowers,  but  I  never  trouble  myself  to 
arrange  them.  "What  would  be  the  use  of  the 
man  if  I  did?'  This  view  of  the  question 
struck  Carmina  dumb.  Mrs.  Gallilee  went  on. 
'  By-the-by,  talking  of  flowers  reminds  one  of 
other  superfluities.  Have  you  tried  the  piano 
in  your  room  ?     Will  it  do  .^  ' 

'  The  tone  is  quite  perfect ! '  Garmina  an- 
swered "with  enthusiasm.     '  Did  you  choose  it  ? ' 


2o8  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

Mrs.  Gallilee  looked  as  if  she  was  going  to  say 
'  Good  Heavens  ! '  again,  and  perhaps  to  endure 
it  no  longer.  Carmina  was  too  simple  to  in- 
terpret these  signs  in  the  right  way.  Why 
should  her  aunt  not  choose  a  piano  ?  '  Don't 
you  like  music  ?  '  she  asked. 

Mrs.  Gallilee  made  a  last  effort.  '  When 
you  see  a  little  more  of  society,  my  child,  you 
will  know  that  one  must  like  music.  So  again 
with  pictures — one  must  go  to  the  Eoyal 
Academy  Exhibition.     So  again ' 

Before  she  could  mention  any  more  social 
sacrifices,  the  servant  came  in  with  a  letter,  and 
stopped  her. 

Mrs.  Gallilee  looked  at  the  address.  The 
weary  indifference  of  her  manner  changed  to 
vivid  interest,  the  moment  she  saw  the  hand- 
writing. '  From  the  Professor  ! '  she  exclaimed. 
'  Excuse  me,  for  one  minute.'  She  read  the 
letter,  and  closed  it  again  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 
'  I  knew  it ! '   she  said   to  herself.      '  I   have 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  209 

always  maiutained   that  the    albuminoid   sub- 
stance of  frog's  eggs  is  insufficient  (viewed  as 
nourishment)  to  transform  a  tadpole  into  a  frog 
— and,  at  last,  the  Professor  owns  that  I  am 
right.      I  beg  your  pardon,  Carmina ;    I   am 
carried  away  by  a  subject  that  I  have  been 
working  at  in  my  stolen  intervals  for  weeks 
past.     Let  me  give   you   some   tea.     I  have 
asked  Miss  Minerva  to  join  us.     What  is  keep- 
ing her,  I  wonder  ?     She  is  usually  so  punctual. 
I  suppose  Zoe  has  been  behaving  badly  again.' 
In  a  few  minutes  more,  the  governess  her- 
self confirmed  this  maternal  forewarning  of  the 
truth.     Zo  had  declined  to  commit  to  memory 
*  the  political  consequences  of  the  granting  of 
Magna  Charta' —  and  now  stood  reserved  for 
punishment,  when   her   mother  '  had  time  to 
attend  to  it.'     Mrs.  Galhlee  at  once  disposed  of 
this  little  responsibihty.     *  Bread  and  water  for 
tea,'  she  said,  and  proceeded  to  the  business  of 
the  evening. 

VOL.  I.  P 


gio  HEART  AND  SCIENCE, 

'  I  wish  to  speak  to  you  both,'  she  began, 
'  on  the  subject  of  my  son.' 

The  two  persons  addressed  waited  in  silence 
to  hear  more.  Carmina's  head  drooped :  she 
looked  down.  Miss  Minerva  attentively  ob- 
served Mrs.  Gallilee.  '  Why  am  I  invited  to 
hear  what  she  has  to  say  about  her  son  ? '  was 
the  question  which  occurred  to  the  governess. 
'  Is  she  afraid  that  Carmina  might  tell  me 
about  it,  if  I  was  not  let  into  the  family 
secrets  ? ' 

Admirably  reasoned,  and  correctly  guessed ! 

Mrs.  Gallilee  had  latterly  observed  that  the 
governess  was  insinuating  herself  into  the  con- 
fidence of  her  niece — that  is  to  say,  into  the 
confidence  of  a  young  lady,  whose  father  was 
generally  reported  to  have  died  in  possession  of 
a  handsome  fortune.  Personal  influence,  once 
obtained  over  an  heiress,  is  not  infrequently 
misused.  To  check  the  further  growth  of  a 
friendship  of  this  sort  (without  openly  ofiending 

1  .1  .JOv 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE,  211 

Miss  Minerva)  was  an  imperative  duty.  Mrs. 
Gallilee  saw  her  way  to  the  discreet  accom- 
plishment of  that  object.  Her  niece  and  her 
governess  were  interested — diversely  interested 
— ^in  Ovid.  If  she  invited  them  both  together, 
to  consult  with  her  on  the  delicate  subject  of 
her  son,  there  would  be  every  chance  of  ex- 
citing some  diiference  of  opinion,  sufficiently 
irritating  to  begin  the  process  of  estrangement, 
by  keeping  them  apart  when  they  had  left  the 
tea-table. 

'  It  is  most  important  that  there  should  be 
no  misunderstanding  among  us,'  Mrs.  Gallilee 
proceeded.  '  Let  me  set  the  example  of  speak- 
ing without  reserve.  We  all  three  know  that 
Ovid  persists  in  remaining  in  London ' 

She  paused,  on  the  point  of  finishing  the 
sentence.  Although  she  had  converted  a  Pro- 
fessor, Mrs.  Gallilee  was  still  only  a  woman. 
There  did  enter  into  her  other  calculations,  the 
possibility  of  exciting  some  accidental  betrayal 

p3 


2f2  HEART  AND  SCIENCE, 

of  her  governess's  passion  for  her  son.  On 
alkiding  to  Ovid,  she  turned  suddenly  to  Miss 
Minerva.  '  I  am  sure  you  will  excuse  my 
troubling  you  with  family  anxieties,'  she  said — 
'  especially  when  they  are  connected  with  the 
health  of  my  son.' 

It  was  cleverly  done,  but  it  laboured  under 
one  disadvantage.  Miss  Minerva  had  no  idea 
of  what  the  needless  apology  meant,  having  no 
suspicion  of  the  discovery  of  her  secret  by  her 
employer.  But  to  feel  herself  baffled  in  trying 
to  penetrate  Mrs.  Gallilee's  motives  was  enough, 
of  itself,  to  put  Mrs.  Gallilee's  governess  on  her 
guard  for  the  rest  of  the  evening. 

'  You  honour  me,  madam,  by  admitting  me 
to  your  confidence ' — was  what  she  said.  '  Trip 
me  up,  you  cat,  if  you  can ! ' — was  what  she 
thought. 

Mrs.  Gallilee  resumed. 

'  We  know  that  Ovid  persists  in  remaining 
in  London,  when  change  of  air  and  scene  are 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  213 

absolutely  necessary  to  the  recovery  of  his 
health.  And  we  know  why.  Carmina,  my 
child,  don't  think  for  a  moment  that  I  blame 
you  !  don't  even  suppose  that  I  blame  my  son. 
You  are  too  charming  a  person  not  to  excuse, 
nay  even  to  justify,  any  man's  admiration. 
But  let  us  (as  we  hard  old  people  say)  look  the 
facts  in  the  face;  If  Ovid  had  not  seen  you, 
he  would  be  now  on  the  health-giving  sea,  on 
his  way  to  Spain  and  Italy.  You  are  the 
innocent  cause  of  his  obstinate  .indifference,  his 
most  deplorable  and  dangerous  disregard  of  the 
duty  which  he  owes  to  himself.  He  refuses  to 
listen  to  his  mother,  he  sets  the  opinion  of  his 
skilled  medical  colleague  at  defiance.  But  one 
person  has  any  influence  over  him  now.'  She 
paused  again,  and  tried  to  trip  up  the  gover- 
ness once  more.  '  Miss  Minerva,  let  me  appeal 
to  You.  I  regard  you  as  a  member  of  our 
family ;  I  have  the  sincerest  admiration  of  your 
tact  and  good  sense.      Am  I   exceeding  the 


214-  HEART  AND  SCIENCE.^ 

limits  of  delicacy,  if  I  say  plainly  to  my  niece, 
Persuade  Ovid  to  go  ?  ' 

If  Carmina  had  possessed  an  elder  sister, 
with  a  plain  personal  appearance  and  an  easy 
conscience,  not  even  that  sister  could  have 
matched  the  perfect  composure  with  which 
Miss  Minerva  replied. 

'  I  don't  possess  your  happy  faculty  of 
expressing  yourself,  Mrs.  Gallilee.  But,  if  I  had 
been  in  your  place,  I  should  have  said  to  the 
best  of  my  poor  ability  exactly  what  you  have 
said  now.'  She  bent  her  head  with  a  graceful 
gesture  of  respect,  and  looked  at  Carmina  with 
a  gentle  sisterly  interest  while  she  stirred  her 
tea. 

At  the  very  opening  of  the  skirmish,  Mrs. 
Galhlee  was  defeated.  She  had  failed  to 
provoke  the  shghtest  sign  of  jealousy,  or  even 
of  ill-temper.  Unquestionably  the  most  crafty 
and  most  cruel  woman  of  the  two — possessing 
the  most  dangerously  deceitful  manner,  and  the 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  215 

most  mischievous  readiness  of  language — she 
was,  nevertheless,  Miss  Minerva's  inferior  in  the 
one  supreme  capacity  of  which  they  both  stood 
in  need,  the  capacity  for  self-restraint. 

She  showed  this  inferiority  on  expressing 
her  thanks.  The  underlying  malice  broke 
through  the  smooth  surface  that  was  intended 
to  hide  it.  '  I  am  apt  to  doubt  myself,'  she 
said  ;  '  and  such  sound  encouragement  as  yours 
always  relieves  me.  Of  course  I  don't  ask  you 
for  more  than  a  word  of  advice.  Of  course  I 
don't  expect  you  to  persuade  Ovid.' 

'  Of  course  not ! '  Miss  Minerva  agreed. 
'May'  I  ask  for  a  little  more  sugar  in  my 
tea?' 

Mrs.  Gallilee  turned  to  Carmina. 

'Well,  my  dear?  I  have  spoken  to  you, 
as  1  might  have  spoken  to  one  of  my  own 
daughters,  if  she  had  been  of  your  age.  Tell 
me  frankly,  in  retiu'n,  whether  I  may  count  on 
your  help.' 


2i6  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

Still  pale  and  downcast,  Carmina  obeyed. 
*  I  will  do  my  best,  if  you  wisli  it.     But ' 

'  Yes  ?     Go  on.' 

She  still  hesitated.  Mrs.  Galhlee  tried  gen- 
tle remonstrance.  '  My  child,  surely  you  are 
not  afraid  of  me  ? ' 

She  was  certainly  afraid.  But  she  con- 
trolled herself. 

'  You  are  Ovid's  mother,  and  I  am  only  his 
cousin,'  she  resumed.  '  I  don't  Hke  to  hear  you 
say  that  my  influence  over  him  is  greater  than 
yours.' 

It  was  far  from  the  poor  girl's  intention ; 
but  there  was  an  implied  rebuke  in  this.  In 
her  present  state  of  irritation,  Mrs.  Gallilee 
felt  it. 

'  Come  !  come  ! '  she  said.  '  Don't  affect  to 
be  ignorant,  my  dear,  of  what  you  know 
perfectly  well.' 

Carmina  lifted  her  head.  For  the  first  time 
in  the  experience  of  the  two  elder  women,  this 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  217 

gentle  creature  showed  that  she  could  resent 
an  insult.  The  fine  spirit  that  was  in  her  fired 
her  eyes,  and  fixed  them  firmly  on  her  aunt. 

'  Do  you  accuse  me  of  deceit  ?  '  she  asked. 

'  Let  us  call  it  false  modesty,'  Mrs.  Gallilee 
retorted. 

Carmina  rose  without  another  word — and 
walked  out  of  the  room. 

In  the  extremity  of  her  surprise,  Mrs. 
Galhlee  appealed  to  Miss  Minerva.  '  Is  she  in 
a  passion  ? ' 

*  She  didn't  bang  the  door,'  the  governess 
quietly  remarked. 

'  I  am  not  joking.  Miss  Minerva.' 

'  /  am  not  joking  either,  madam.' 

The  tone  of  that  answer  implied  an  uncom- 
promising assertion  of  equahty.  You  are  not 
to  suppose  (it  said)  that  a  lady  drops  below 
your  level,  because  she  receives  a  salary  and 
teaches  your  children.  Mrs.  Gallilee  was  so 
angry,  by  this  time,  that  she  forgot  the  import- 


2i8  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

ance  of  preventing  a  conference  between  Miss 
Minerva  and  lier  niece.  For  once,  she  was  the 
creature  of  impulse — the  overpowering  impulse 
to  dismiss  her  insolent  governess  from  her 
hospitable  table. 

'  May  I  offer  you  another  cup  of  tea  ?  ' 
'  Thank  you — no  more.     May  I  return  to 
my  pupils  ?  ' 

'  By  all  means  ! ' 

Carmina  had  not  been  five  minutes  in  her 
own  room  before  she  heard  a  knock  at  the 
door.  Had  Mrs.  Gallilee  followed  her  .^  '  Who 
is  there  ? '  she  asked.  And  a  voice  outside 
answered, 

'  Only  Miss  Minerva  ! ' 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  219 


CHAPTEK  XVI. 

'  I  AM  afraid  I  have  startled  you  ? '    said  tlie 
governess,  carefully  closing  the  door. 

'I  thought  it  was  my  aunt,'  Carmina  an- 
swered, as  simply  as  a  child. 
'  Have  you  been  crying  ?  ' 
'  I  couldn't  help  it,  Miss  Minerva.' 
'  Mrs.  Gallilee  spoke  cruelly  to  you — I  don't 
wonder  at  your  feehng  angry.' 

Carmina  gently  shook  her  head.  '  I  have 
been  crying,'  she  explained, '  because  I  am  sorry 
and  ashamed.  How  can  I  make  it  up  with  my 
aunt?  Shall  I  go  back  at  once  and  beg  her 
pardon?  I  think  you  are  my  friend,  Miss 
Minerva.     Will  you  advise  me  ? ' 

It  was  so  prettily  and  innocently  said  that 


220.  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

even  the  governess  was  touched — for  a  moment. 
'  Shall  I  prove  to  you  that  I  am  your  friend  ? ' 
she  proposed.  '  I  advise  you  not  to  go  back 
yet  to  your  aunt — and  I  will  tell  you  why. 
Mrs.  Gallilee  bears  maUce  ;  she  is  a  thoroughly 
unforgiving  woman.  And  I  should  be  the  first 
to  feel  it,  if  she  knew  what  I  have  just  said  to 
you.' 

'  Oh,  Miss  Minerva !  you  don't  think  that  I 
would  betray  your  confidence  ? ' 

'l!To,  my  dear,  I  don't.  I  felt  attracted 
towards  you,  when  we  first  met.  You  didn't 
return  the  feeling — you  (very  naturally)  disliked 
me.  I  am  ugly  and  ill-tempered :  and,  if  there 
is  anything  good  in  me,  it  doesn't  show  itself 
on  the  surface.  Yes !  yes !  I  believe  you  are 
beginning  to  understand  me.  If  I  can  make 
your  life  here  a  little  happier,  as  time  goes  on, 
I  shall  be  only  too  glad  to  do  it.'  She  put  her 
long  yellow  hands  on  either  side  of  Carmina's 
head,  and  kissed  her  forehead. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  221 

The  poor  child  threw  her  arms  round  Miss 
Minerva's  neck,  and  cried  her  heart  out  on  the 
bosom  of  the  woman  who  w^as  deceiving  her. 
'  I  have  nobody  left,  now  Teresa  has  gone,'  she 
said.  'Oh,  do  try  to  be  kind  to  me — I  feel  so 
friendless  and  so  lonely ! ' 

Miss  Minerva  neither  moved  nor  spoke. 
She  waited,  and  let  the  girl  cry. 

Her  heavy  black  eyebrows  gathered  into  a 
frown ;  her  sallow  face  deepened  in  colour. 
She  was  in  a  state  of  rebellion  against  herself. 
Through  all  the  hardening  influences  of  the 
woman's  life — through  the  fortifications  against 
good  which  watchful  evil  builds  in  human 
hearts — that  innocent  outburst  of  trust  and  grief 
had  broken  its  way ;  and  had  purified  for  a 
while  the  fetid  inner  darkness  with  divine  light. 
She  had  entered  the  room,  with  her  own  base 
interests  to  serve.  In  her  small  sordid  way  she, 
like  her  employer,  was  persecuted  by  debts — 
miserable  debts  to  sellers  of  expensive  washes, 


itz  HEART  AND  SCIENCE, 

which  might  render  her  ugly  complexion  more 
passable  in  Ovid's  eyes ;  to  makers  of  costly 
gloves,  which  might  show  Ovid  the  shape  of 
her  hands,  and  hide  their  colour;  to  skilled 
workmen  in  fine  leather,  who  could  tempt  Ovid 
to  look  at  her  high  instep,  and  her  fine  ankle — 
the  only  beauties  that  she  could  reveal  to  the 
only  man  whom  she  cared  to  please.  For 
the  time,  those  importunate  creditors  ceased  to 
threaten  her.  For  the  time,  what  she  had  heard 
in  the  conservatory,  while  they  were  reading 
the  Will,  lost  its  tempting  influence.  She  re- 
mained in  the  room  for  half  an  hour  more — 
and  she  left  it  without  having  borrowed  a 
farthing. 

*  Are  you  easier  now  ? ' 

*  Yes,  dear.' 

Carmina  dried  her  eyes,  and  looked  shyly 
at  Miss  Minerva.  '  I  have  been  treating  you 
as  if  I  had  a  sister,'  she  said ;  '  you  don't  think 
me  too  familiar,  I  hope  ? ' 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  223 

■  *  I  wish  I  was  your  sister,  God  knows ! ' 
The  words  were  hardly  out  of  her  mouth 
before  she  was  startled  by  her  own  fervour. 
'  Shall  I  tell  you  what  to  do  with  Mrs.  Gallilee? ' 
she  said  abruptly.  '  Write  her  a  little  note.' 
'  Yes !  yes !  and  you  will  take  it  for  me  ?  ' 
Carmina's  eyes  brightened  through  her  tears, 
the  suggestion  was  such  a  relief!  In  a  minute 
the  note  was  written :  *  My  dear  Aunt,  I  have 
behaved  very  badly,  and  I  am  very  much 
ashamed  of  it.  May  I  trust  to  your  kind 
indulgence  to  forgive  me?  I  will  try  to  be 
worthier  of  your  kindness  for  the  future ;  and 
I  sincerely  beg  your  pardon.'  She  signed  her 
name  in  breathless  haste.  '  Please  take  it  at 
once  ! '  she  said  eagerly. 

Miss  Minerva  .smiled.  '  If  I  take  it,'  she 
said,  '  I  shall  do  harm  instead  of  good — I  shall 
be  accused  of  interfering.  Give  it  to  one  of 
the  servants.  Not  yet !  When  Mrs.  Gallilee  is 
angry,  she  doesn't  get  over  it  so  soon  as  you 


2H  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

seem  to  think.  Leave  her  to  dabble  in  science 
first,'  said  the  governess  in  tones  of  immeasur- 
able contempt.  'When  she  has  half  stifled 
herself  with  some  filthy  smell,  or  dissected 
some  wretched  insect  or  flower,  she  may  be  in 
a  better  humour.     Wait.' 

Carmina  thought  of  the  happy  days  at 
home  in  Italy,  when  her  father  used  to  laugh 
at  her  little  outbreaks  of  temper,  and  good 
Teresa  only  shrugged  her  shoulders.  What  a 
change — oh,  me,  what  a  change  for  the  worse ! 
She  drew  from  her  bosom  a  locket,  hung  round 
her  neck  by  a  thin  gold  chain — and  opened  it, 
and  kissed  the  glass  over  the  miniature  portraits 
inside.  '  Would  you  hke  to  see  them  ?  '  she 
said  to  Miss  Minerva.  '  My  mother's  likeness 
was  painted  for  me  by  my  father  ;  and  then  he 
had  his  photograph  taken  to  match  it.  I  open 
my  portraits  and  look  at  them,  while  I  say  my 
prayers.  It's  almost  like  having  them  alive 
again,  sometimes.     Oh,  if  I  only  had  my  father 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  225 

to  advise  me  now — ! '  Her  heart  swelled — 
but  she  kept  back  the  tears  :  she  was  learning 
that  self-restraint,  poor  soul,  already !  '  Per- 
haps,' she  went  on,  '  I  ought  not  to  want 
advice.  After  that  fainting-fit  in  the  Gardens, 
if  I  can  persuade  Ovid  to  leave  us,  I  ought  to 
do  it — and  I  will  do  it ! ' 

Miss  Minerva  crossed  the  room,  and 
looked  out  of  window.  Carmina  had  roused 
the  dormant  jealousy ;  Carmina  had  fatally 
weakened  the  good  influences  which  she  had 
herself  produced.  The  sudden  silence  of  her 
new  friend  perplexed  her.  She  too  went  to 
the  window.  '  Do  you  think  it  would  be  taking 
a  hberty  ?  '  she  asked. 
'  No.' 

A  short  answer — and  still  looking  out  of 
window!  Carmina  tried  again.  'Besides, 
there  are  my  aunt's  wishes  to  consider.     After 

my  bad  behaviour ' 

Miss    Minerva     turned    round     from    the 
VOL.  I.  Q 


226  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

window  sharply.  '  Of  course  !  There  can't  be 
a  doubt  of  it.'  Her  tone  softened  a  little. 
'  You  are  young,  Carmina — I  suppose  I  may 
call  you  by  your  name — you  are  young  and 
simple.  Do  those  innocent  eyes  of  yours  ever 
see  below  the  surface  ?  ' 

'  I  don't  quite  understand  you.' 

'  Do  you  think  your  aunt's  only  motive  in 
wishing  Mr.  Ovid  Vere  to  leave  London  is 
tiuxiety  about  his  health  ?  Do  you  feel  no 
suspicion  that  she  wants  to  keep  him  away 
from  You  ? ' 

Carmina  toyed  with  her  locket,  in  an  em- 
barrassment which  she  was  quite  unable  to 
disguise.  '  Are  you  afraid  to  trust  me  ?  '  Miss 
Minerva  asked.  That  reproach  opened  the 
girl's  lips  instantly. 

'  I  am  afraid  to  tell  you  how  foolish  I  am,' 
she  answered.  '  Perhaps,  I  still  feel  a  little 
strangeness  between  us  ?  It  seems  to  be  so 
formal   to   call    you   Miss   Minerva.     I   don't 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  227 

know  what  your  Christian  name  is.  Will  you 
tell  me  ? ' 

Miss  Minerva  replied  rather  unwilhngly. 
'  My  name  is  Frances.     Don't  call  me  Fanny ! ' 

'  Why  not .?  ' 

'  Because  it's  too  absurd  to  be  endured ! 
What  does  the  mere  sound  of  Fanny  suggest  ? 
A  flirting,  dancing  creature — plump  and  fair, 
and  playful  and  pretty ! '  She  went  to  the 
looking-glass,  and  pointed  disdainfully  to  the 
reflection  of  herself.  '  Sickening  to  think 
of,'  she  said,  '  when  you  look  at  that.  Call 
me  Frances — a  man's  name,  with  only  the 
difference  between  an  i  and  an  e.  No 
sentiment  in  it ;  hard,  like  me.  Well, 
what  was  it  you  didn't  like  to  say  of  your- 
self?' 

Carmina  dropped  her  voice  to  a  whisper. 
'  It's  no  use  asking  me  what  I  do  see,  or  don't 
see,  in  my  aunt,'  she  answered.  '  I  am  afraid 
we  shall  never  be — what  we  ought  to  be  to 

a2 


228  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

each  other.     When  she  came  to  that  concert, 

and  sat  by  me  and  looked  at  me '     She 

stopped,  and  shuddered   over  the  recollection 
of  it. 

Miss  Minerva  urged  her  to  go  on — first,  by 
a  gesture ;  then  by  a  suggestion :  '  They  said 
you  fainted  under  the  heat.' 

'I  didn't  feel   the  heat.     I  felt   a   horrid 
creeping  all  over  me.     Before  I  looked  at  her, 
XQmH ! — when  I  only  knew  that  somebody  was 
sitting   next   to   me.     And   then,  I   did   look 
round.     Her  eyes  and   my  eyes  flashed   into 
each  other.     In   that  one  moment,  I  lost  all 
sense  of  myself  as  if  I  was  dead.     I  can  only 
tell  you  of  it  in  that  way.     It  was  a  dreadful 
surprise  to  me  to  remember  it — and  a  dreadful 
pain — when  they  brought  me  to  myself  again. 
Though  I  do  look  so  little  and  so  weak,  I  am 
stronger  than  people   think ;   I   never   fainted 
before.       My    aunt    is — how    can    I    say    it 
properly  ? — hard   to   get   on   with   since   that 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  22^' 

time.  Is  there  something  wicked  in  my 
nature?  I  do  believe  she  feels  in  the  same 
way  towards  me.  Yes  ;  I  dare  say  it's  imagi- 
nation, but  it's  as  bad  as  reality  for  all  that. 
Oh,  I  am  sure  you  are  right — she  does  want  to 
keep  Ovid  out  of  my  way  ! ' 

'  Because  she  doesn't  hke  you  ? '  said  Miss 
Minerva.  '  Is  that  the  only  reason  you  can 
think  of?' 

'  What  other  reason  can  there  be  ?  ' 

The  governess  summoned  her  utmost  power 
of  self-restraint.  She  needed  it,  even  to  speak 
of  the  bare  possibility  of  Carmina's  marriage  to 
Ovid,  as  if  it  was  only  a  matter  of  speculative 
interest  to  herself. 

'  Some  people  object  to  marriages  between 
cousins,'  she  said.  'You  are  cousins.  Some 
people  object  to  marriages  between  Catholics 

and  Protestants.    You  are  a  Catholic '   No  I 

She  could  not  trust  herself  to  refer  to  him 
directly ;   she  went  on  to   the  next  sentence. 


230  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

'  And  there  might  be  some  other  reason/  she 
resumed. 

'  Do  you  know  what  it  is  ?  '  Carmina  asked. 

'  No  more  than  you  do — thus  far.' 

She  spoke  the  plain  truth.  Thanks  to  the 
dog's  interruption,  and  to  the  necessity  of  saving 
herself  from  discovery,  the  last  clauses  of  the 
Will  had  been  read  in  her  absence. 

'  Can't  you  even  guess  what  it  is  ? '  Carmina 
persisted. 

'  Mrs.  Gallilee  is  very  ambitious,'  the 
governess  replied  :  '  and  her  son  has  a  fortune 
of  his  own.  She  may  wish  him  to  marry  a 
lady  of  high  rank.  But — no — she  is  always  in 
need  of_^money.  In  some  way,  money  may  be 
concerned  in  it.' 

'  In  what  way .?  "  Carmina  asked. 

M  have  already  told  you,'  Miss  Minerva 
answered,  '  that  I  don't  know.' 

Before  the  conversation  could  proceed,  they 
were  interrupted   by   the  appearance  of  Mrs. 


HEART  AND   SCIENCE.  231 

Gallilee's  maid,  with  a  message  from  the  school- 
room. Miss  Maria  wanted  a  httle  help  in  lier 
Latin  lesson.  Noticing  Carmiua's  letter,  as  she 
advanced  to  the  door,  it  struck  Miss  Minervi 
that  the  woman  might  deliver  it.  '  Is  Mrs. 
Gallilee  at  home  ? '  she  asked.  Mrs.  Gallilee 
had  just  gone  out.  '  One  of  her  scientific 
lectures,  I  suppose,'  said  Miss  Minerva  to 
Carmina.  '  Your  note  must  wait  till  she 
comes  back.' 

The  door  closed  on  the  governess — and  the 
lady's-maid  took  a  liberty.  She  remained  in 
the  room  ;  and  produced  a  morsel  of  folded 
paper,  hitherto  concealed  from  vie^\^  Smirk- 
ing and  smiling,  she  handed  the  paper  to 
Carmina. 

'  From  Mr.  Ovid,  Miss.' 


«32  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

'  Pkay  come  to  me  ;  I  am  waiting  for  you  in 
the  garden  of  the  Square.' 

In  those  two  lines,  Ovid's  note  began  and 
ended.  Mrs.  GaUilee's  maid — deeply  interested 
in  an  appointment  which  was  not  without 
precedent  in  her  own  experience — ventured  on 
an  expression  of  sympathy,  before  she  returned 
to  the  servants'  hall.  '  Please  to  excuse  me, 
Miss  ;  I  hope  Mr.  Ovid  isn't  ill  ?  He  looked 
sadly  pale,  I  thought.  Allow  me  to  give  you 
your  hat.'  Carmina  thanked  her,  and  hurried 
downstairs. 

Ovid  was  waiting  at  the  gate  of  the  Square 
' — and  he  did  indeed  look  wretchedly  ill. 

It  was  useless  to  make  inquiries  ;  they  only 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  233 

seemed  to  irritate  him.  '  I  am  better  already, 
now  you  have  come  to  me.'  He  said  that,  and 
led  the  way  to  a  sheltered  seat  among  the 
trees.  In  the  later  evening-time  the  Square 
was  almost  empty.  Two  middle-aged  ladies, 
walking  up  and  down  (who  considerately  re- 
membered their  own  youth,  and  kept  out  of 
the  way),  and  a  boy  rigging  a  model  yacht 
(who  was  too  closely  occupied  to  notice  them), 
were  the  only  persons  in  the  enclosure  besides 
themselves. 

'  Does  my  mother  know  that  you  have 
come  here  ? '  Ovid  asked. 

'  Mrs.  GaUilee  has  gone  out.  I  didn't  stop 
to  think  of  it,  when  I  got  your  letter.  Am  I 
doing  wrong  ? ' 

Ovid  took  her  hand.  '  Is  it  doing  wroncr 
to  relieve  me  of  anxieties  that  I  have  no 
courage  to  endure?  When  we  meet  in  the 
house  either  my  mother  or  her  obedient 
servant,  Miss  Minerva,  is  sure  to  interrupt  us. 


234  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

At  last,  my  darling,  I  have  got  you  to  myself ! 
You  know  that  I  love  you.  Why  can't  I  look 
into  your  heart,  and  see  what  secrets  it  is 
keeping  from  me  ?  I  try  to  hope ;  but  I 
want  some  little  encouragement.  Carmina! 
shall  I  ever  hear  you  say  that  you  love 
me? ' 

She  trembled,  and  turned  away  her  head. 
Her  own  words  to  the  governess  were  in  her 
mind  ;  her  own  conviction  of  the  want  of  all 
sympathy  between  his  mother  and  herself  made 
her  shrink  from  answering  him. 

'  I  imderstand  your  silence.'  With  those 
words  he  dropped  her  hand,  and  looked  at  her 
no  more. 

It  was  sadly,  not  bitterly  spoken.  She 
attempted  to  find  excuses;  she  showed  but 
too  plainly  how  she  pitied  him.     '  If  I  only 

had    myself    to    think    of '      Her    voice 

failed  her.     A   new  hfe   came  into  his  eyes, 
the  colour   rose  in   his    haggard    face :    even 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  235 

those    few    faltering    words    had   encouraged 
him  ! 

She  tried  again  to  make  him  understand 
her.  '  I  am  so  afraid  of  distressing  you,  Ovid  ; 
and  I  am  so  anxious  not  to  make  mischief 
between  you  and  your  mother ' 

*  What  has  my  mother  to  do  with  it  ?  ' 

She  went  on,  without  noticing  the  interrup- 
tion. '  You  won't  think  me  ungrateful  ?  We 
had  better  speak  of  something  else.  Only  this 
evening,  your  mother  sent  for  me,  and — don't 
be  angry ! — I  am  afraid  she  might  be  vexed  if 
she  knew  what  you  have  been  saying  to  me. 
Perhaps  I  am  wrong  ?  Perhaps  she  only 
thinks  I  am  too  young.  Oh,  Ovid,  how  you 
look  at  me !  Your  mother  hasn't  said  in  so 
many  words ' 

'  What  has  she  said  ?  ' 

In  that  question  she  saw  the  chance  of 
speaking  to  him  of  other  interests  than  the 
interests  of  love. 


236  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

'  You  must  go  away  to  another  climate,' 
she  said ;  '  and  your  mother  tells  me  I  must 
persuade  you  to  do  it.  I  obey  her  with  a 
heavy  heart.  Dear  Ovid,  you  know  how  I 
shall  miss  you  ;  you  know  what  a  loss  it  will  be 
to  me,  when  you  say  good-bye — but  there  is 
only  one  way  to  get  well  again.  I  entreat  you 
to  take  that  way  !  Your  mother  thinks  I  have 
some  influence  over  you.  Have  I  any  in- 
fluence ? ' 

'  Judge  for  yoiu-self,'  he  answered.  '  You 
wish  me  to  leave  you  ? ' 

'  For  your  own  sake.  Only  for  your  own 
sake.' 

'  Do  you  wish  me  to  come  back  again  ?  ' 

'  It's  cruel  to  ask  the  question  ! ' 

'  It  rests  with  you,  Carmina.  Send  me 
away  when  you  like,  and  where  you  hke.  But, 
before  I  go,  give  me  my  one  reason  for  making 
the  sacrifice.  No  change  will  do  anything  for 
me,  no  climate  will  restore  my  health — unless 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  237 

you  give  me  your  love.  I  am  old  enougli  to  know 
myself;  I  have  thought  of  it  by  day  and  by 
night.  Am  I  cruel  to  press  you  in  this  way  ? 
I  will  only  say  one  word  more.  It  doesn't 
matter  what  becomes  of  me — if  you  refuse  to 
be  my  wife.' 

Without  experience,  without  advice — with 
her  own  heart  protesting  against  her  silence — 
the  restraint  that  she  had  laid  on  herself  grew 
harder  and  harder  to  endure.  The  tears  rose 
in  her  eyes.  He  saw  them ;  they  embittered 
his  mind  against  his  mother.  With  a  darkening 
face  he  rose,  and  walked  up  and  down  before 
her,  struggling  with  himself. 

'  This  is  my  mother's  doing,'  he  said. 

His  tone  terrified  her.  The  dread,  present 
to  her  mind  all  through  the  interview,  of 
making  herself  a  cause  of  estrangement  be- 
tween mother  and  sou,  so  completely  over- 
came her  that  she  even  made  an  attempt  to 
defend  Mrs.  Gallilee !    At  the  first  words,  he 


238  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

sat  down  by  her  again.  For  a  moment,  he 
scrutinised  her  face  without  mercy — and  then 
repented  of  his  own  severity. 

'  My  poor  child,'  he  said,  '  you  are  afraid  to 
tell  me  what  has  happened.  I  won't  press 
you  to  speak  against  your  own  inclinations.  It 
would  be  cruel  and  needless — I  have  got  at 
the  truth  at  last.  In  the  one  hope  of  my  Hfe, 
my  mother  is  my  enemy.  She  is  bent  on 
separating  us  ;  she  shall  not  succeed.  I  won't 
leave  you.' 

Carmina  looked  at  him.  His  eyes  dropped 
before  her,  in  cod  fusion  and  shame. 

'  Are  you  angry  with  me  ? '  she  asked. 

No  reproaches  could  have  touched  his 
heart  as  that  question  touched  it.  'Angry 
with  you  ?  Oh,  my  darling,  if  you  only  knew 
how  angry  I  am  with  myself!  It  cuts  me  to 
the  heart  to  see  how  I  have  distressed  you.  I 
am  a  miserable  selfish  wretch  ;  I  don't  deserve 
your  love.     Forgive  me,  and  forget  me.    I  will 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  239 

make  the  best  atonement  I  can,  Carmiua.  I 
will  go  away  to-morrow.' 

Under  hard  trial,  she  had  preserved  her 
self-control.  She  had  resisted  him  ;  she  had 
resisted  herself.  His  sudden  submission  dis- 
armed her  in  an  instant.  With  a  low  cry  of 
love  and  fear  she  threw  her  arms  round  his 
neck,  and  laid  her  burning  cheek  against  his 
face.  '  I  can't  help  it,'  she  whispered  ;  '  oh, 
Ovid,  don't  despise  me ! '  His  arms  closed 
round  her  ;  Ms  lips  were  pressed  to  hers.  '  Kiss 
me,'  he  said.  She  kissed  him,  trembling  in  his 
embrace.  That  innocent  self-abandonment  did 
not  plead  with  him  in  vain.  He  released  her 
— and  only  held  her  hand.  There  was  silence 
between  them ;  long,  happy  silence. 

He  was  the  first  to  speak  again.  '  How  can 
I  go  away  now  ?  '  he  said. 

She  only  smiled  at  that  reckless  forgetful- 
ness  of  the  promise,  by  which  he  had  bound 
himself  a  few  minutes  since.     '  What  did  you 


240  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

tell  me,'  she  asked  playfully, '  when  you  called 
yourself  by  hard  names,  and  said  you  didn't 
deserve  my  love  ?  '  Her  smile  vanished  softly, 
and  left  only  a  look  of  tender  entreaty  in  its 
place.  '  Set  me  an  example  of  firmness,  Ovid 
— don't  leave  it  all  to  me !  Kemember  what 
you  have  made  me  say.  Eemember' — she 
only  hesitated  for  a  moment — *  remember  what 
an  interest  I  have  in  you  now.  I  love  you, 
Ovid.     Say  you  will  go.' 

He  said  it  gratefully.  '  My  life  is  yours  ; 
my  will  is  yours.  Decide  for  me,  and  I  will 
begin  my  journey.' 

She  was  so  impressed  by  her  sense  of  this 
new  responsibility,  that  she  answered  him  as 
gravely  as  if  she  had  been  his  wife.  '  I  must 
give  you  time  to  pack  up,'  she  said. 

'  Say  time  to  be  with  You  ! ' 

She  fell  into  thought.  He  asked  if  she  was 
still  considering  when  to  send  him  away.  '  No,' 
she  said  ;  '  it  isn't  that.     I  was  wondering  at 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  241 

myself.  What  is  it  that  makes  a  great  man 
like  you  so  fond  of  me  ?  ' 

His  arm  stole  round  her  waist.  He  could 
just  see  her  in  the  darkening  twilight  under  the 
trees ;  the  murmuring  of  the  leaves  was  the 
only  sound  near  them — his  kisses  lingered  on 
her  face.  She  sighed  softly.  '  Don't  make  it 
too  hard  for  me  to  send  you  away  ! '  she  whis- 
pered. He  raised  her,  and  put  her  arm  in  his. 
'  Come,'  he  said,  '  we  will  walk  a  little  in 
the  cool  air.' 

They  returned  to  the  subject  of  his  depar- 
ture. It  was  still  early  in  the  week.  She  in- 
quired if  Saturday  would  be  too  soon  to  begin 
his  journey.  No  :  he  felt  it,  too — the  longer 
they  delayed,  the  harder  the  parting  would  be. 

'  Have  you  thought  yet  where  you  will 
go  ? '  she  asked. 

'  I  must  begin  with  a  sea- voyage,'  he 
replied.  '  Long  railway  journeys,  in  my 
present   state,  will  only   do   me  harm.     The 

YOL.  I.  B 


242  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

difficulty  is  where  to  go  to.  I  have  been  to 
America ;  India  is  too  hot ;  Australia  is  too 
far.     Benjuiia  has  suggested  Canada.' 

As  he  mentioned  the  doctor's  name,  her 
hand  mechanically  pressed  his  arm. 

'  That  strange  man  ! '  she  said.  '  Even  his 
name  startles  one  ;  I  hardly  know  what  to 
think  of  him.  He  seemed  to  have  more 
feeling  for  the  monkey  than  for  you  or  me. 
It  was  certainly  kind  of  liim  to  take  the  poor 
creature  home,  and  try  what  he  could  do  with 
it.     Are  you  sure  he  is  a  great  chemist  ? ' 

Ovid  stopped.  Such  a  question,  from 
Carmina,  sounded  strange  to  him.  *What 
makes  you  doubt  it  ? '  he  said. 

'  You  won't  laugli  at  me,  Ovid  ? ' 

'  You  know  I  won't ! ' 

'  Now  you  shall  hear.  We  knew  a  famous 
Italian  chemist  at  Eome — such  a  nice  old  man  ! 
He  and  my  father  used  to  play  piquet ;  and  I 
looked  at  them,  and  tried  to  learn — and  I  was 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  243 

too  stupid.  But  I  had  plenty  of  opportunities 
of  noticing  our  old  friend's  hands.  They  were 
covered  with  stains  ;  and  he  caught  me  looking 
at  them.  He  was  not  in  the  least  offended ; 
he  told  me  his  experiments  had  spotted  his 
skin  in  that  way,  and  nothing  would  clean  off" 
the  stains.  I  saw  Doctor  Benjulia's  great  big 
hands,  while  he  was  giving  you  the  brandy — 
and  I  remembered  afterwards  that  there  were 
no  stains  on  them.  I  seem  to  surprise 
you.' 

'  You  do  indeed  surprise  me.  After  know- 
ing Benjulia  for  years,  I  have  never  noticed, 
what  you  have  discovered  on  first  seeing 
him.' 

'  Perhaps  he  has  some  ^vay  of  cleaning  the 
stains  off*  his  hands.' 

Ovid  agreed  to  this,  as  the  readiest  means 
of  dismissing  the  subject.     Carmina  had  really 
startled  him.     Some  irrational  connection  be- 
tween the   great    chemist's    attention    to    the 
e2 


244  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

monkey,  and  the  perplexing  purity  of  his 
hands,  persisted  in  vaguely  asserting  itself  in 
Ovid's  mind.  His  unacknowledged  doubts  of 
Benjulia  troubled  him  as  they  had  never 
troubled  him  yet.  He  turned  to  Carmina  for 
relief. 

'  Still  thinking,  my  love  ?  ' 

'  Thinking  of  you,'  she  answered.  '  I  want 
you  to  promise  me  something — and  I  am  afraid 
to  ask  it.' 

'  Afraid  ?     You  don't  love  me,  after  all  1 ' 

'  Then  I  will  say  it  at  once  !  How  long  do 
you  expect  to  be  away  ?  ' 

'  For  two  or  three  months,  perhaps.' 

'Promise  to  wait  till  you  return,  before 
you  tell  your  mother ' 

'  That  we  are  engaged  ?  ' 

'  Yes.' 

'  You  have  my  promise,  Carmina ;  but  you 
make  me  uneasy.' 

'Why?' 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  245 

'  In  my  absence,  you  will  be  under  my 
mother's  care.    And  you  don't  like  my  mother.' 

Few  words  and  plain  words — and  they 
sorely  troubled  her. 

If  she  owned  that  he  was  right,  what  would 
the  consequence  be  ?  He  might  refuse  to  leave 
her.  Even  assuming  that  he  controlled  himself, 
he  would  take  his  departure  harassed  by 
anxieties,  which  might  exercise  the  worst  pos- 
sible influence  over  the  good  effect  of  the 
journey.  To  prevaricate  with  herself  or  with 
him  was  out  of  the  question.  That  very 
evening  she  had  quarrelled  with  his  mother ; 
and  she  had  yet  to  discover  whether  Mrs. 
Gallilee  had  forgiven  her.  In  her  heart  of 
hearts  she  hated  deceit — and  in  her  heart  of 
hearts  she  longed  to  set  his  mind  at  ease.  In 
that  embarrassing  position,  which  was  the 
right  way  out  ?  Satan  persuaded  Eve ;  and 
Love  persuaded  Carmina.  Love  asked  if  she 
was  cruel  enough  to  make  her  heart's  darling 


246  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

miserable  wlien  he  was  so  fond  of  her  ?  Before 
she  could  realise  it,  she  had  begun  to  deceive 
him.     Poor  humanity !  poor  Carmina ! 

'  You  are  almost  as  hard  on  me  as  if  you 
were  Doctor  Benjulia  himself!'  she  said.  'I 
feel  your  mother's  superiority — and  you  tell 
me  I  don't  like  her.  Haven't  you  seen  how 
good  she  has  been  to  me  ? ' 

She  thought  this  way  of  putting  it  irre- 
sistible. Ovid  resisted,  nevertheless.  Carmina 
plunged  into  lower  depths  of  deceit  imme- 
diately. 

'  Haven't  you  seen  my  pretty  rooms — my 
piano — my  pictures — my  china — my  flowers? 
I  should  be  the  most  insensible  creatiure  living 
if  I  didn't  feel  grateful  to  your  mother.' 

*  And  yet,  you  are  afraid  of  her.' 

She  shook  his  arm  impatiently.  'I  say. 
No!' 

He  was  as  obstinate  as  ever.  '  I  say,  Yes  I 
If    you're    not    afraid,  why   do  you   wish   to 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  247 

keep  our  engagement  from  my  mother's  know- 
ledge?' 

His  reasoning  was  unanswerable.  But 
where  is  the  woman  to  be  found  who  is  not 
supple  enough  to  shp  through  the  stiiOT  fingers 
of  Eeason  ?  She  sheltered  herself  from  his 
logic  behind  his  language. 

'Must  I  remind  you  again  of  the  time 
when  you  were  angry?'  she  rejoined.  'You 
said  yoiu*  mother  was  bent  on  separating  us. 
If  I  don't  want  her  to  know  of  our  engagement 
just  yet  —  isn't  that  a  good  reason?'  She 
rested  her  head  caressingly  on  his  shoulder. 
'  Tell  me,'  she  went  on,  thinking  of  one  of  Miss 
Minerva's  suggestions,  '  doesn't  my  aunt  look 
to  a  higher  marriage  for  you  than  a  marriage 
with  me  ? ' 

It  was  impossible  to  deny  that  Mrs.  Galli- 
lee's  views  might  justify  that  inquiry.  Had 
she  not  more  than  once  advised  him  to  wait  a 
few  years — in  other  words,  to  wait  until  he 


&48  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

had  won  the  highest  honours  of  his  profession — 
before  he  thought  of  marrying  at  all?  But 
Carmina  was  too  precious  to  him  to  be 
humiliated  by  comparisons  with  other  women, 
no  matter  what  their  rank  might  be.  He  paid 
her  a  compliment,  instead  of  giving  her  an 
answer. 

'  My  mother  can't  look  higher  than  you,' 
he  said.  '  I  wish  I  could  feel  sure,  Carmina — 
in  leaving  you  with  her — that  I  am  leaving 
you  with  a  friend  whom  you  trust  and  love.' 

There  was  a  sadness  in  his  tone  that 
grieved  her.  'Wait  till  you  come  back,'  she 
rephed,  speaking  as  gaily  as  she  could.  '  You 
will  be  ashamed  to  remember  your  own  mis- 
givings. And  don't  forget,  dear,  that  I  have 
another  friend  besides  your  mother — the  best 
and  kindest  of  friends — to  take  care  of  me.' 

Ovid  heard  this  with  some  surprise.  '  A 
friend  in  my  mother's  house  ?  '  he  asked. 

'  Certainly ! ' 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  249 

'Wlioisit?' 

'  Miss  Minerva.' 

'  What ! '  His  tone  expressed  such  im- 
measurable amazement,  that  Carmina's  sense  of 
justice  was  roused  in  defence  of  her  new  friend. 

'  If  I  began  by  wronging  Miss  Minerva,  I 
had  the  excuse  of  being  a  stranger,'  she  said, 
warmly.  '  You  have  known  her  for  years, 
and  you  ought  to  have  found  out  her  good 
qualities  long  since !  Are  all  men  alike,  I 
wonder?  Even  my  kind  dear  father  used  to 
call  ugly  women  the  inexcusable  mistakes  of 
Nature.  Poor  Miss  Minerva  says  herself  she  is 
ugly,  and  expects  everybody  to  misjudge  her 
accordingly.  I  don't  misjudge  her,  for  one. 
Teresa  has  left  me ;  and  you  are  going  away 
next.  A  miserable  prospect,  Ovid,  but  not 
quite  without  hope.  Frances — yes,  I  call  her 
by  her  Christian  name,  and  she  calls  me  by 
mine  ! — Frances  will  console  me,  and  make  my 
life  as  happy  as  it  can  be  till  you  come  back.' 


250  HEART  AND  SCIENCE, 

Excepting  bad  temper,  and  merciless  cul- 
tivation of  the  minds  of  children,  Ovid  knew 
of  nothing  that  justified  his  prejudice  against 
the  governess.  Still,  Carmina's  sudden  conver- 
sion inspired  him  with  something  like  alarm. 
'  I  suppose  you  have  good  reasons  for  what 
you  tell  me,'  he  said. 

'  The  best  reasons,'  she  replied,  in  the  most 
positive  manner. 

He  considered  for  a  moment  how  he  could 
most  delicately  inquire  what  those  reasons 
might  be.  But  valuable  opportunities  may  be 
lost,  even  in  a  moment.  '  Will  you  help  me  to 
do  justice  to  Miss  Minerva  ? '  he  cautiously 
began. 

'  Hush  ! '  Carmina  interposed.  '  Surely,  I 
heard  somebody  calling  to  me .?  ' 

They  paused,  and  listened.  A  voice  hailed 
them  from  the  outer  side  of  the  garden.  They 
started  guiltily.  It  was  the  voice  of  Mrs. 
Gallilee. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  251 


CHAPTEE  XVIII. 

'  Carmina  !  are  you  in  the  Square  ?  ' 

'  Leave  it  to  me,'  Ovid  whispered.  '  We 
will  come  to  you  directly,'  he  called  back. 

Mrs.  Galhlee  was  waiting  for  them  at  the 
gate.  Ovid  spoke,  the  moment  they  were 
mthin  sisrht  of  each  other.  '  You  will  have 
no  more  cause  to  complain  of  me,'  he  said 
cheerfully ;  '  I  am  going  away  at  the  end  of 
the  week.' 

Mrs.  Gallilee's  answer  was  addressed  to 
Carmina  instead  of  to  her  son.  '  Thank  you, 
my  dear,'  she  said,  and  pressed  her  niece's 
hand. 

It  was  too  dark  to  see  more  of  faces  than 
theu'    sliadowy   outline.     The   learned    lady's 


252  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

tone  was  the  perfection  of  amiability.  She 
sent  Ovid  across  the  road  to  knock  at  the 
house-door,  and  took  Carmina's  arm  confiden- 
tially. '  You  little  goose ! '  she  whispered, 
'  how  could  you  suppose  I  was  angry  with 
you?  I  can't  even  regret  your  mistake,  you 
have  written  such  a  charming  note.' 

Ovid  was  waiting  for  them  in  the  hall. 
They  went  into  the  library.  Mrs.  Gallilee  en- 
folded her  son  in  a  fervent  motherly  embrace. 

'  This  completes  the  enjoyment  of  a  most 
delightful  evening,'  she  said.  'First  a  perfect 
lecture — and  then  the  relief  of  overpowering 
anxiety  about  my  son.  I  suppose  your  pro- 
fessional studies,  Ovid,  have  never  taken  you 
as  high  as  the  Interspacial  Kegions  ?  We 
were  an  immense  audience  to-night,  to  hear 
the  Professor  on  that  subject,  and  I  really 
haven't  recovered  it  yet.  Fifty  miles  above 
us — only  fifty  miles — there  is  an  atmosphere 
of  cold   that  would   freeze  the  whole  human 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE,  253 

family  to  death  iu  a  second  of  time.  Moist 
matter,  in  that  terrific  emptiness,  would  ex- 
plode, and  become  stone  ;  and — listen  to  this, 
Carmina — the  explosion  itself  would  be  frozen, 
and  produce  no  sound.  Think  of  serious 
people  looking  up  in  that  dreadful  direction, 
and  talking  of  going  to  Heaven.  Oh,  the 
insignificance  of  man,  except — I  am  going  to 
make  a  joke,  Ovid — except  when  he  pleases 
his  old  mother  by  going  away  for  the  benefit 
of  his  health !  And  where  are  you  going  ? 
Has  sensible  Carmina  advised  you?  I  agree 
with  her  beforehand,  whatever  she  has  said.' 

Ovid  informed  his  mother  of  Benjulia's 
suggestion,  and  asked  her  what  she  thought 
of  it. 

Mrs.  Gallilee's  overflowing  geniality  in- 
stantly flooded  the  absent  doctor.  He  was 
rude,  he  was  ugly  ;  but  what  an  inestimable 
friend !  what  admirable  advice !  In  Ovid's 
state  of  health  he  must  not  write  letters ;  his 


254  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

mother  would  write  and  thank  the  doctor,  and 
ask  for  introductions  to  local  grandees  who 
occupied  a  position  in  colonial  society.  She 
seized  the  newspaper:  a  steamer  for  Canada 
sailed  from  Liverpool  on  Saturday.  Ovid  could 
secure  his  cabin  the  next  morning  ('  amidships, 
my  dear,  if  you  can  possibly  get  it '),  and  could 
leave  London  by  Friday's  train.  Li  her  eager- 
ness to  facilitate  his  departure,  she  proposed  to 
superintend  the  shutting  up  of  his  house,  in  his 
absence,  and  to  arrange  the  disposal  of  the 
servants,  if  he  considered  it  worth  while  to 
keep  them.  She  even  thought  of  the  cat. 
The  easiest  way  to  provide  for  the  creature 
would  be  of  course  to  have  her  poisoned ;  but 
Ovid  was  so  eccentric  in  some  things,  that 
practical  suggestions  were  thrown  away  on 
him.  '  Sixpence  a  week  for  cat's  meat  isn't 
much,'  cried  Mrs.  Galhlee  in  an  outburst  of 
generosity.     '  We  will  receive  the  cat ! ' 

Ovid  made  his  acknowledgments  resignedly. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  255 

Carmina  could  see  tliat  Mrs.  Gallilee's  over- 
powering vitality  was  beginning  to  oppress  her 
son. 

'I  needn't  trouble  you,  mother,'  he  said. 
'  My  domestic  affairs  were  all  settled  when  I 
first  felt  the  necessity  of  getting  rest.  My 
manservant  travels  with  me.  My  housemaid 
and  kitchenmaid  will  go  to  their  friends 
in  the  country ;  the  cook  will  look  after 
the  house  ;  and  her  nephew,  the  little  page,  is 
almost  as  fond  of  the  cat  as  I  am.  If  you  will 
send  for  a  cab,  I  think  I  will  go  home.  Like 
other  people  in  my  wretched  state,  I  feel 
fatigued  towards  night-time.' 

His  lips  just  touched  Carmina's  delicate 
little  ear,  while  his  mother  turned  away  to 
ring  the  bell.  'Expect  me  to-morrow,'  he 
whispered.  '  I  love  you  ! — love  you ! — love 
you ! '  He  seemed  to  find  the  perfection  of 
luxury  in  the  reiteration  of  those  words. 

When  Ovid  had  left  them,  Carmina  expected 


256  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

to  hear  something  of  her  aunt's  discovery  in 
the  Square. 

Mrs.  Gallilee's  innocence  was  impenetrable. 
Not  finding  her  niece  in  the  house,  she  had 
thought  of  the  Square.  What  could  be  more 
natural  than  that  the  cousins  should  take  an 
evening  walk,  in  one  of  the  prettiest  enclosures 
in  London  ?  Her  anticipation  of  Ovid's  re- 
covery, and  her  admiration  of  Carmina's  powers 
of  persuasion  appeared,  for  the  time,  to  be  the 
only  active  ideas  in  that  comprehensive  mhid. 
When  the  servant  brought  in  the  tray,  with 
the  claret  and  soda-water,  she  sent  for  Miss 
Minerva  to  join  them,  and  hear  the  good  news ; 
completely  ignoring  the  interruption  of  their 
friendly  relations,  earlier  in  the  evening.  She 
became  festive  and  facetious  at  the  sight  of  the 
soda-water.  'Let  us  imitate  the  men,  Miss 
Minerva,  and  drink  a  toast  before  we  go  to 
bed.  Be  cheerful,  Carmina,  and  share  half  a 
bottle   of  soda-water  with  me.      A  pleasant 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  257 

journey  to  Ovid,  and  a  safe  return ! '  Cheered 
by  the  influences  of  conviviaUty,  the  friend  of 
Professors,  the  tender  nurse  of  half- developed 
tadpoles,  lapsed  into  learning  again.  Mrs. 
Gallilee  improvised  an  appropriate  little  lecture 
on  Canada — on  the  botany  of  the  Dominion  ; 
on  the  geology  of  the  Dominion ;  on  the 
number  of  gallons  of  water  wasted  every  hour 
by  the  falls  of  Niagara.  '  Science  will  set  it 
all  right,  my  dears ;  we  shall  make  that  idle 
water  work  for  us,  one  of  these  days.  Good- 
night, Miss  Minerva  !  Dear  Carmina,  pleasant 
dreams ! ' 

Safe  in  the  solitude  of  her  bedroom,  the 
governess  ominously  knitted  her  heavy  eye- 
brows. 

'  In  all  my  experience,'  she  though^  '  I 
never  saw  Mrs.  Gallilee  in  such  spirits  before. 
What  mischief  is  she  meditating,  when  she  has 
got  rid  of  her  son  ?  ' 

VOL.  I.  s 


2s8  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 


CHAPTEE  XIX. 

The  lapse  of  a  few  hours  exercised  no  deterior- 
ating influence  on  Mrs,  Gallilee's  amiability. 

On  the  next  day,  thanks  to  his  mother's 
interference,  Ovid  was  left  in  undisturbed 
enjoyment  of  Carmina's  society.  Not  only 
Miss  Minerva,  but  even  Mi\  Gallilee  and  the 
children,  were  kept  out  of  the  way  with  a 
delicately-exercised  dexterity,  which  defied  the 
readiest  suspicion  to  take  ofience.  In  one 
word,  all  that  sympathy  and  indulgence  could 
do  to  invite  Ovid's  confidence,  was  unobtru- 
sively and  modestly  done.  Never  had  the 
mistress  of  domestic  diplomacy  reached  her 
ends  with  finer  art. 

In   the   afternoon,    a   messenger  delivered 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  259 

Benjulia's  reply  to  Mrs.  Gallilee's  annoiincement 
of  her  son's  contemplated  journey — despatched 
by  the  morning's  post.  The  doctor  was  confined 
to  the  house  by  an  attack  of  gout.  If  Ovid 
wanted  information  on  the  subject  of  Canada, 
Ovid  must  go  to  him,  and  get  it.  That  was 
all. 

'  Have  you  ever  been  to  Doctor  Benjulia's 
house  ?  '  Carmina  asked. 

'  Never.' 

'  Tlien  all  you  have  told  me  about  him  is 
mere  report  ?  Now  you  will  find  out  the  truth ! 
Of  course  you  will  go  ? ' 

Ovid  felt  no  desire  to  make  a  vojage  of 
exploration  to  Benjulia's  house — and  said  so 
plainly.  Carmina  used  all  her  powers  of  per- 
suasion to  induce  him  to  change  his  mind.  Mrs. 
Gallilee  (superior  to  the  influence  of  girlish 
curiosity)  felt  the  importance  of  obtaining  intro- 
ductions to  Canadian  society,  and  agreed  with 
her  niece.  '  I  shall  order  the  carriage,'  she  said, 
s  2 


26o  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

assuming  a  playfully  despotic  tone  ;  '  and,  if  you 
don't  go  to  the  doctor — Carmina  and  I  will  pay 
him  a  visit  in  your  place.' 

Threatened,  if  he  remained  obstinate,  with 
such  a  result  as  this,  Ovid  had  no  alternative 
but  to  submit. 

The  one  order  that  could  be  given  to  the 
coachman  was  to  drive  to  the  village  of  Hendon, 
on  the  north-western  side  of  London,  and  to 
rust  to  inquiries  for  the  rest  of  the  way.  Be- 
tween Hendon  and  Willesden,  there  are  pastoral 
solitudes  within  an  hour's  drive  of  Oxford  Street 
- — wooded  lanes  and  wild-flowers,  farms  and 
cornfields,  still  unprofaned  by  the  devastating 
brickwork  of  the  builder  of  modern  times. 
Following  winding  ways,  under  shadowing  trees, 
the  coachman  made  his  last  inquiry  at  a  road- 
side public-house.  Hearing  that  Benjulia's 
place  of  abode  was  now  within  half  a  mile  of 
him,  Ovid  set  forth  on  foot ;  leaving  the  driver 
and  the  horses  to  take  their  ease  at  their  inn. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  261 

He  arrived  at  an  iron  gate,  opening  out  of 
a  lonely  lane. 

There,  in  the  middle  of  a  barren  little  field, 
he  saw  Benjulia's  house — a  hideous  square 
building  of  yellow  brick,  with  a  slate  roof.  A 
low  Avail  surrounded  the  place,  having  another 
iron  gate  at  the  entrance.  The  enclosure  with- 
in was  as  barren  as  the  field  without :  not  even 
an  attempt  at  fiower-garden  or  kitchen-garden 
was  visible.  At  a  distance  of  some  two  hundred 
yards  from  the  house  stood  a  second  and  smaller 
building,  with  a  skylight  in  the  roof,  wdiich  Ovid 
recognised  (from  description)  as  the  famous 
laboratory.  Behind  it  was  the  hedge  which 
parted  Benjulia's  morsel  of  land  from  the  land 
of  his  neighbour.  Here,  the  trees  rose  again, 
and  the  fields  beyond  were  cultivated.  No 
dwellings,  and  no  hving  creatures  appeared. 
So  near  to  London — and  yet,  in  its  loneliness, 
so  far  away — there  was  something  unnatural  in 
the  sohtude  of  the  place. 


262  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

Led  by  a  feeling  of  curiosity,  which  was  fast 
degenerating  into  suspicion,  Ovid  approached 
the  laboratory,  Avithout  showing  himself  in  front 
of  the  house.  No  watch-dog  barked  ;  no  servant 
appeared  on  the  look-out  for  a  visitor.  He  was 
ashamed  of  himself  as  he  did  it,  but  (so  strongly 
had  he  been  imj^ressed  by  Carmina's  observation 
of  the  doctor)  he  even  tried  the  locked  door  of 
the  laboratory,  and  waited  and  listened !  It 
was  a  breezy  summer-day;  the  leaves  of  the 
trees  near  him  rustled  cheerfully.  Was  tliere 
another  sound  audible?  Yes — low  and  faint, 
there  rose  through  the  sweet  woodland  melody 
a  moaning  cry.  It  paused ;  it  was  repeated  ;  it 
stopped.  He  looked  round  him,  not  quite  sm'e 
whether  the  sound  proceeded  from  the  outside 
or  the  inside  of  the  building.  He  shook 
the  door.  Nothing  happened.  The  suffering 
creature  (if  it  was  a  suffering  creature)  was 
silent  or  dead.  Had  chemical  experiment  acci- 
dentally injured  some  living  thing  ?     Or ^ 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE,  263 

He  recoiled  fronrt  pursuing  that  second  in- 
quiry. The  laboratory  had,  by  this  time,  be- 
come an  object  of  liorror  to  him.  He  returned 
to  the  dwelhng-house. 

He  put  his  hand  on  the  latch  of  the  gate, 
and  looked  back  at  the  laboratory.  He  hesi- 
tated. 

That  moaning  cry,  so  piteous  and  so  short- 
lived, haunted  his  ears.  The  idea  of  approaching 
Benjuha  became  repellent  to  him.  What  he 
might  afterwards  think  of  himself — what  his 
mother  and  Carmina  might  think  of  him — if  he 
returned  without  having  entered  the  doctor's 
house,  were  considerations  which  had  no  influ- 
ence over  his  mind,  in  its  present  mood.  The 
impulse  of  the  moment  was  the  one  power 
that  swayed  him.  He  put  the  latch  back 
in  the  socket.  'I  won't  go  in,'  he  said  to 
himself. 

It  was  too  late.  As  he  turned  from  the 
house   a  manservant  appeared  at   the  door — 


246  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

crossed  the  enclosure — and  threw  the  gate  open 
for  Ovid,  without  uttering  a  word. 

They  entered  the  passage.  The  speechless 
manservant  opened  a  door  on  the  right,  and 
made  a  bow,  inviting  the  visitor  to  enter.  Ovid 
found  himself  in  a  room  as  barren  as  the  field 
outside.  There  were  the  plastered  walls,  there 
was  the  bare  floor,  left  exactly  as  the  builders 
had  left  them  when  the  house  was  finished. 
After  a  short  absence,  the  man  appeared  again. 
He  might  be  depressed  in  spirits,  or  crabbed  in 
temper :  the  fact  remained  that,  even  now,  he 
had  nothing  to  say.  He  opened  a  door  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  passage — made  another 
bow — and  vanished. 

*  Don't  come  near  me  ! '  cried  Benjulia,  the 
moment  Ovid  showed  himself 

The  doctor  was  seated  in  an  inner  corner 
of  the  room  :  robed  in  a  long  black  dressincc- 
sown,  buttoned  round  his  throat,  which  hid 
evcrv   part   of  him    below   his   fleshlcss   face. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  265 

except  his  big  hands,  and  his  tortured  gouty 
foot.  Eage  and  pain  glared  in  his  gloomy 
gray  eyes,  and  shook  his  clenched  fists,  resting 
on  the  arms  of  an  easy  chair.  '  Ten  thousand 
red-hot  devils  are  boring  ten  thousand  holes 
through  my  foot,'  he  said.  '  If  you  touch  the 
pilloAv  on  my  stool,  I  shall  fly  at  your  throat.' 
He  poured  some  cooling  lotion  from  a  bottle 
into  a  small  watering-pot,  and  irrigated  his 
foot  as  if  it  had  been  a  bed  of  flowers.  By 
way  of  further  relief  to  the  pain,  he  swore 
ferociously ;  addressing  his  oaths  to  himself,  in 
thunderous  undertones  which  made  the  glasses 
ring  on  tlie  sideboard. 

Eelieved,  in  his  present  frame  of  mind,  to 
have  escaped  the  necessity  of  shaking  hands, 
Ovid  took  a  chair,  and  looked  about  him. 
Even  here  he  discovered  but  little  furniture, 
and  that  little  of  the  heavy  old-fashioned  sort. 
Besides  the  sideboard,  he  perceived  a  dining- 
table,  six  chairs,  and  a  dingy  brown  carpet. 


266  HEART  AND  SCIENCE, 

There  were  no  curtains  on  the  window,  and  no 
pictures  or  prints  on  the  drab-coloured  walls. 
The  empty  grate  showed  its  bleak  black  cavity- 
undisguised  ;  and  the  mantelpiece  had  nothing 
on  it  but  the  doctor's  dirty  and  strong-smelling 
pipe.  Benjulia  set  down  his  watering-pot,  as  a 
sign  that  the  paroxysm  of  pain  had  passed 
away.  '  A  dull  place  to  live  in,  isn't  it  ?  '  In 
those  words  he  welcomed  the  visitor  to  his 
house. 

Irritated  by  the  accident  which  had  forced 
him  into  the  repellent  presence  of  Benjulia, 
Ovid  answered  in  a  tone  which  matched  the 
doctor  on  his  own  hard  ground. 

'It's  your  own  fault  if  the  place  is  dull. 
Why  haven't  you  planted  trees,  and  laid  out  a 
garden  ? ' 

'  I  dare  say  I  shall  surprise  you,'  Benjulia 
quietly  rejoined  ;  '  but  I  have  a  habit  of  speak- 
ing my  mind.  I  don't  object  to  a  dull  place  ; 
and  I  don't  care  about  trees  and  gardens.' 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  2&f 

'  You  don't  seem  to  care  about  furniture 
either,'  said  Ovid. 

Now  that  he  was  out  of  pain  for  awhile, 
the  doctor's  innate  insensibility  to  what  other 
peo[)le  might  think  of  him,  or  might  say  to 
him,  resumed  its  customary  torpor  in  its  own 
strangely  unconscious  way.  He  seemed  only 
to  understand  that  Ovid's  curiosity  was  in 
search  of  information  about  trifles.  Well, 
there  would  be  less  trouble  in  giving  him  his 
information,  than  in  investigating  his  motives. 
So  Benjidia  talked  of  his  furniture. 

'  I  dare  say  you're  right,'  he  said.  '  My 
sister-in-law — did  you  know  I  had  a  relation  of 
that  sort  ? — my  sister-in-law  got  the  tables  and 
chairs,  and  beds  and  basins.  Buying  things 
at  shops  doesn't  interest  me.  I  gave  her  a 
cheque ;  and  I  told  her  to  furnish  a  room  for 
me  to  eat  in,  and  a  room  for  me  to  sleep  in — 
and  not  to  forget  the  kitchen  and  the  garrets 
for  the  servants.     What  more  do  I  want  ? 


268  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

His  intolerable  composure  only  added  to 
his  guest's  irritability. 

'  A  selfish  way  of  putting  it,'  Ovid  broke 
out.  '  Have  you  nobody  to  think  of  but  your- 
self?' 

'  Nobody — I  am  happy  to  say.' 
'  That's  downright  cynicism,  Benjulia.! ' 
The   doctor   reflected.      'Is   it?'  he   said. 
'  Perhaps  you  may  be  right  again.     I  think  it's 
only   indifference,  myself.     Curiously  enough 
my  brother  looks  at  it  from  your  point  of  view 
— he  even  used  the  same  Avord  that  you  used 
just   now.     I  suppose  he  found  my  cynicism 
beyond  the  reach  of  reform.     At  any  rate,  he 
left  off  coming  here.     I  got  rid  of  him  on  easy 
terms.     What   do   you   say  ?     That   inhuman 
way  of  talking  is  unworthy  of  me  ?     Eeally  I 
don't  think  so.     I'm  not  a  downright  savage. 
It's  only  indifference.' 

'  Does  your  brother  return  your  indiffer- 
ence ?     You  must  be  a  nice  pair,  if  lie  does  ! ' 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  269 

Benjiilia  seemed  to  find  a  certain  dreary 
amusement  in  considering  the  question  that 
Ovid  had  proposed.  He  decided  on  doing 
justice  to  his  absent  relative. 

'  My  brotlier's  intelUgence  is  pcrliaps  equal 
to  such  a  small  effort  as  you  suggest,'  he  said. 
'  He  has  just  brains  enough  to  keep  himself  ou 
of  an  asylum  for  idiots.  Shall  I  tell  you  what  he 
is  in  two  words  ?  A  stupid  sensualist — that's 
Avhat  he  is.  I  let  his  wife  come  here  some- 
times, and  cry.  It  doesn't  trouble  me  ;  and  it 
seems  to  relieve  lier.  More  of  my  indifference 
— eh  ?  Well,  I  don't  know.  I  gave  her  the 
change  out  of  the  furniture-cheque,  to  buy  a 
new  bonnet  with.  You  might  call  that  indiffer- 
ence, and  you  might  be  right  once  more.  I  don't 
care  about  money.  Will  you  have  a  drink  ? 
You  see  I  can't  move.    Please  ring  for  the  man.' 

Ovid  refused  the  drink,  and  chan2;ed  the 
subject.  '  Your  servant  is  a  remarkably  silent 
person,'  he  said. 


270  HEART  AND  SCIENCE, 

'  That's  liis  merit,'  Benjulia  answered ;  '  the 
women-servants  have  quarrelled  with  every 
other  man  I've  had.  They  can't  quarrel  with 
this  man.  I  have  raised  liis  wages  in  grateful 
acknowledgment  of  his  usefulness  to  me.  I 
hate  noise.' 

'  Is  that  the  reason  why  you  don't  keep  a 
watch-dog  ? ' 

'  I  don't  hke  dogs.     They  bark.' 

He  had  apparently  some  other  disagreeable 
association  with  dogs,  which  he  was  not  dis- 
posed to  communicate.  His  hollow  eyes  stared 
gloomily  into  vacancy.  Ovid's  presence  in  the 
room  seemed  to  have  become,  for  the  time 
being,  an  impression  erased  from  his  mind. 
He  recovered  himself,  with  the  customary 
vehement  rubbing  of  his  head,  and  turned  the 
talk  to  the  object  of  Ovid's  visit. 

'  So  you  have  taken  my  advice,'  he  said. 
'  You're  going  to  Canada,  and  you  want  to  get 
at  what  I  can  tell  you  before  you  start.     Here's 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  271 

my  journal.     It  will  jog  my  memory,  and  help 
us  both.' 

His  writing  materials  were  placed  on  a 
movable  table,  screwed  to  his  chair.  Near 
them  lay  a  shabby-looking  book,  guarded  by  a 
lock.  Ten  minutes  after  he  had  opened  his 
journal,  and  had  looked  here  and  there  through 
the  pages,  his  hard  intellect  had  grasped  all 
that  it  required.  Steadily  and  copiously  his 
mind  emptied  its  information  into  Ovid's  mind ; 
without  a  single  digression  from  beginning  to 
end,  and  with  the  most  mercilessly  direct  refer- 
ence to  the  traveller's  practical  wants.  Not  a 
word  escaped  him,  relating  to  national  cha- 
racter or  to  the  beauties  of  Nature.  Mrs. 
Gallilee  had  criticised  the  Falls  of  Niagara  as  a 
reservoir  of  wasted  power.  Doctor  Benjulia's 
scientific  superiority  over  the  woman  asserted 
itself  with  magnificent  ease.  Niagara  being 
nothing  but  useless  water,  he  never  mentioned 
Niaoara  at  all. 


272  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

'  Have  I  served  your  purpose  as  a  guide  ?  ' 
lie  asked.  '  Never  mind  thanking  me.  Yes  or 
no  will  do.  Very  good.  I  have  got  a  line  of 
writing  to  give  you  next.'  He  mended  his 
quill  pen,  and  made  an  observation.  '  Have 
you  ever  noticed  that  women  have  one  plea- 
sure which  lasts  to  the  end  of  their  hves  ?  '  he 
said.  '  Young  and  old,  they  have  the  same 
inexhaustible  enjoyment  of  society  ;  and,  young 
and  old,  they  are  all  alike  incapable  of  under- 
standing a  man,  when  he  says  he  doesn't  care 
to  go  to  a  party.  Even  your  clever  mother 
thinks  you  want  to  go  to  parties  in  Canada.' 
He  tried  his  pen,  and  found  it  Avould  do — and 
bes^an  his  letter. 

Seeing  his  hands  at  work,  Ovid  was  again 
reminded  of  Carmina's  discovery.  His  eyes 
wandered  a  little  aside,  towards  the  corner 
formed  by  the  pillar  of  the  chimney-piece  and 
the  wall  of  the  room.  The  big  bamboo-stick 
rested   there.     A   handle   was  attached   to  it, 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  273 

made  of  light-coloured  horn,  and  on  that 
handle  there  were  some  stains.  Ovid  looked 
at  them  with  a  surgeon's  practised  eye.  They 
were  dry  stains  of  blood.  (Had  he  washed  his 
hands  on  the  last  occasion  when  he  used  his 
stick  ?  And  had  he  forgotten  that  the  handle 
wanted  washing  too  ?) 

Benjulia  finished  his  letter,  and  wrote  the 
address.  He  took  up  the  envelope,  to  give 
it  to  Ovid — and  stopped,  as  if  some  doubt 
tempted  him  to  change  his  mind.  The  hesita- 
tion was  only  momentary.  He  persisted  in  his 
first  intention,  and  gave  Ovid  the  letter.  It 
was  addressed  to  a  doctor  at  Montreal. 

'  That  man  won't  introduce  you  to  so- 
ciety.' Benjulia  annoimced,  '  and  won't  worry 
your  brains  with  medical  talk.  Keep  off 
one  subject  on  your  side.  A  mad  bull  is 
nothing  to  my  friend  if  you  speak  of  Vivi- 
section.' 

Ovid    looked    at    him   steadily,   when   he 

VOL.  I.  T 


274  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

uttered  the  last  word.  Benjulia  looked  back, 
just  as  steadily  at  Ovid. 

At  the  moment  of  that  reciprocal  scrutiny, 
did  the  two  men  suspect  each  other  ?  Ovid, 
on  his  side,  determined  not  to  leave  the  house 
without  putting  his  suspicions  to  the  test. 

'  I  thank  you  for  the  letter,'  he  began  ; 
'  and  I  will  not  forget  the  warning.' 

The  doctor's  capacity  for  the  exercise  of 
the  social  virtues  had  its  limits.  His  reserves 
of  hospitality  were  by  this  time  near  then-  end. 

'  Is  there  anything  more  I  can  do  for  you  ?  ' 
he  interposed. 

'  You  can  answer  a  simple  question,'  Ovid 
replied.     '  My  cousin  Carmina ' 

Benjulia  interrupted  him  again :  '  Don't 
you  think  we  said  enough  about  your  cousin  in 
the  Gardens  ?  '  he  suggested. 

Ovid  acknowledged  the  hint  with  a  neatness 
of  retort  almost  worthy  of  his  mother.  '  You 
have  your  own  merciful  disposition  to  blame, 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  275 

if  I  return  to  the  subject,'  he  replied.  '  My 
cousin  cannot  forget  your  kindness  to  the 
monkey.' 

'The  sooner  she  forgets  my  kindness  the 
better.     The  monkey  is  dead.' 

'  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.' 

'Why?' 

'  I  thought  the  creature  was  living  in  pain.' 

'  What  do  you  mean  ?  ' 

'  I  mean  that  I  heard  a  moaning ' 

'Where?' 

'  In  the  building  behind  your  house.' 

'  You  heard  the  wind  in  the  trees.' 

'  Nothing  of  the  sort.  Are  your  chemical 
experiments  ever  made  on  animals  ?  ' 

The  doctor  parried  that  direct  attack,  with- 
out giving  ground  by  so  much  as  a  hair's 
breadth. 

'What  did  I  say  when  I  gave  you  your 
letter  of  introduction  ?  '  he  asked.  '  I  said,  A 
mad  bull  is  nothing  to  my  friend,  if  you  speak 


276  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

to  him  of  Vivisection.  Now  I  have  something 
more  to  tell  3^011.  I  am  like  my  friend.'  He 
waited  a  little.     '  Will  that  do  ? '  he  asked. 

'  Yes,'  said  Ovid;  '  that  will  do.' 

They  were  as  near  to  an  open  quarrel  as 
two  men  could  be :  Ovid  took  up  his  hat  to  go. 
Even  at  that  critical  moment,  Benjulia's  strange 
jealousy  of  his  young  colleague — as  a  possible 
rival  in  some  field  of  discovery  which  he 
claimed  as  his  own — showed  itself  once  more. 
There  was  no  change  in  his  tone ;  he  still 
spoke  Hke  a  judicious  friend. 

'  A  last  word  of  advice,'  he  said.  '  You  are 
travelling  for  your  health  ;  don't  let  inquisitive 
strangers  lead  you  into  talk.  Some  of  them 
might  be  physiologists.' 

'  And  might  suggest  new  ideas,'  Ovid  re- 
joined, determined  to  make  him  speak  out 
this  time 

Benjulia  nodded,  in  perfect  agreement  with 
his  guest's  view. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  277 

'  Are  you  afraid  of  new  ideas  ?  '  Ovid  went 
on. 

'  Perhaps  I  am — in  your  head.'  He  made 
that  admission,  without  hesitation  or  embarrass- 
ment. '  Good-bye ! '  he  resumed.  '  My  sensi- 
tive foot  feels  noises  :  don't  bang  the  door,' 

Getting  out  into  the  lane  again,  Ovid 
looked  at  his  letter  to  the  doctor  at  Montreal. 
His  first  impulse  was  to  destroy  it. 

As  Benjulia  had  hesitated  before  giving 
him  the  letter,  so  he  now  hesitated  before 
tearing  it  up. 

Contrary  to  the  usual  practice  in  such  cases, 
tlie  envelope  was  closed.  Under  those  circum- 
stances, Ovid's  pride  decided  him  on  using  the 
introduction.  Time  was  still  to  pass,  before 
events  opened  his  eyes  to  the  importance  of  his 
decision.  To  the  end  of  his  life  he  remembered 
that  Benjuha  had  been  near  to  keeping  back 
the  letter,  and  that  he  liad  been  near  to  tearing 
it  up. 


278  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 


CHAPTEE   XX. 

The  wise  ancient  who  asserted  that  '  Time  flies,' 
must  have  made  that  remarkable  discovery 
while  he  was  in  a  state  of  preparation  for  a 
journey.  When  are  we  most  acutely  sensible 
of  the  shortness  of  life  ?  When  do  we  consult 
our  watches  in  perpetual  dread  of  the  result  ? 
When  does  the  night  steal  on  us  unawares,  and 
the  morning  take  us  by  surprise  ?  When  we 
are  going  on  a  journey. 

The  remaining  days  of  the  week  went  by 
with  a  rush.  Ovid  had  hardly  time  to  ask 
himself  if  Friday  had  really  come,  before  the 
hours  of  his  life  at  home  were  already 
numbered. 

He  had  still  a  little  time  to  spare  when  he 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  279 

presented  liimself  at  Fairfield  Gardens  late  in 
the  afternoon.  Finding  no  one  in  the  library, 
he  went  up  to  the  drawing-room.  His  mother 
was  alone,  reading. 

'  Have  you  anything  to  say  to  me,  before  I 
tell  Carmina  that  you  are  here  ? '  Mrs.  Gallilee 
put  that  question  quietly,  so  far  as  her  voice 
was  concerned.  But  she  still  kept  her  eyes  on 
her  book.  Ovid  knew  that  she  was  offering 
him  his  first  and  last  chance  of  speaking  plainly, 
before  he  went  away.  In  Carmina's  interests 
he  spoke. 

'  Mother,'  he  said,  '  I  am  leaving  the  one 
person  in  the  w^orld  who  is  most  precious  to 
me,  under  your  care.' 

'  Do  you  mean,'  Mrs.  Galhlee  asked,  '  that 
you  and  Carmina  are  engaged  to  be  married  .?  ' 

'  I  mean  that ;  and  I  am  not  sure  that  you 
approve  of  the  engagement.  Will  you  be 
plainer  with  me  than  you  were  on  the  last 
occasion  when  we  spoke  on  this  subject  ?  ' 


2So  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

'  When  was  that  ?  '  Mrs.  GalUlee  inquired. 
'  When  yon  and  I  were  alone  for  a  few 
minutes,  on  the  morning  when  I  breakfasted 
here.  You  said  it  was  quite  natural  that 
Carmina  should  have  attracted  me ;  but  you 
were  careful  not  to  encourage  the  idea  of  a 
marriage  between  us.  I  understood  that  you 
disapproved  of  it — but  you  didn't  plainly  tell 
me  why.' 

'  Can  women  always  give  their  reason  ? ' 
'  Yes — when  they  are  women  like  you.' 
'  Thank  you,  my  dear,  for  a  pretty  compli- 
ment. I  can  trust  my  memory.  I  think  I 
hinted  at  the  obvious  objections  to  an  engage- 
ment. You  and  Carmina  are  cousins ;  and 
you  belong  to  different  religious  communities. 
I  may  add  that  a  man  with  your  brilliant 
prospects  has,  in  my  opinion,  no  reason  to 
marry  unless  his  wife  is  in  a  position  to  in- 
crease his  influence  and  celebrity.  I  had  looked 
forward   to   seeing   my   clever  son   rise  more 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  281 

nearly  to  a  level  with  persons  of  rank,  who  are 
members  of  our  family.  There  is  my  confes- 
sion, Ovid.  If  I  did  hesitate  on  the  occasion 
to  which  you  have  referred,  I  have  now,  I 
think >  told  you  why.' 

'  Am  I  to  understand  that  you  hesitate 
still  ?  '  Ovid  asked. 

'No.'  With  that  brief  reply  she  rose  to 
put  away  her  book. 

Ovid  followed  her  to  the  bookcase.  '  Has 
Carmina  conquered  you  ? '  he  said. 

She  put  her  book  back  in  its  place. 
'  Carmina  has  conquered  me,'  she  answered. 

'  You  say  it  coldly.' 

'  What  does  that  matter,  if  I  say  it  truly? ' 

The  struggle  in  him  between  hope  and  fear 
burst  its  way  out.  '  Oh,  mother,  no  words  can 
tell  you  how  fond  I  am  of  Carmina !  For 
God's  sake  take  care  of  her,  and  be  kind  to 
her!' 

'  For  your  sake,'  said  Mrs.  Gallilee,  gently 


282  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

correcting  the  language  of  lier  excitable  son, 
from  her  own  protoplastic  point  of  view. 
'Yon  do  me  an  injustice  if  you  feel  anxious 
about  Carmina,  when  you  leave  her  here.  My 
dead  brother's  child,  is  my  child.  You  may  be 
sure  of  that.'  She  took  his  hand,  and  drew 
him  to  her,  and  kissed  his  forehead  with  dignity 
and  deliberation.  If  Mr.  Mool  had  been 
present,  during  the  registration  of  that  solemn 
pledge,  he  would  have  been  irresistibly  re- 
minded of  the  other  ceremony,  Avhich  is  called 
signing  a  deed. 

'  Have  you  any  instructions  to  give  me  ? ' 
Mrs.  Gallilee  proceeded.  '  For  instance,  do  you 
object  to  my  taking  Carmina  to  parties?  I 
mean,  of  course,  parties  which  will  improve  her 
mind.' 

He  fell  sadly  below  his  mother's  level  in 
replying  to  this.  *  Do  everything  you  can  to 
make  her  life  happy  while  I  am  away.' 
Those  were  his  only  instructions. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  283 

.  But  Mrs.  Gallilee  had  not  done  with  him 
yet.  '  Witli  i^egard  to  visitors,'  she  went  on, 
'  I  presume  you  wish  me  to  be  careful,  if 
I  find  young  men  calhng  here  oftener  than 
usual  ? ' 

Ovid  actually  laughed  at  this.  '  Do  you 
think  I  doubt  her?'  he  asked.  'The  earth 
doesn't  hold  a  truer  girl  than  my  little 
Carmina  ! '  A  thought  struck  him  while  he 
said  it.  The  brightness  faded  out  of  his  face  ; 
his  voice  lost  its  gaiety.  '  There  is  one  person 
who  may  call  on  you,'  he  said,  '  whom  I  don't 
wish  her  to  see.' 

'  Who  is  he  ? ' 

'  Unfortunately,  he  is  a  man  who  has  ex- 
cited her  curiosity.     I  mean  Benjulia.' 

It  was  now  Mrs.  Gallilee's  turn  to  be 
amused.  Her  laugh  was  not  one  of  her 
foremost  fascinations.  It  was  hard  in  tone, 
and  limited  in  range — it  opened  her  mouth, 
but  it  failed  to  kindle  any  light  in  her  eyes. 


284  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

'  Jealous  of  the  ugly  doctor ! '  she  exclaimed. 
'  Oh,  Ovid,  what  next  ? ' 

'  You  never  made  a  greater  mistake  in  your 
life,'  her  son  answered  sharply. 

'  Then  what  is  the  objection  to  him  ? ' 
Mrs.  Gallilee  rejoined. 

It  was  not  easy  to  meet  that  question  with 
a  plain  reply.  If  Ovid  asserted  that  Benjuha's 
chemical  experiments  were  assumed — for  some 
reason  known  only  to  himself — as  a  cloak  to 
cover  the  atrocities  of  the  Savage  Science,  he 
would  only  raise  the  doctor  in  his  mother's 
estimation.  If,  on  tlie  other  hand,  he  described 
what  had  passed  between  them  when  they  met 
in  the  Zoological  Gardens,  Mrs.  Gallilee  might 
summon  Benjulia  to  explain  the  slur  which 
he  had  indirectly  cast  on  the  memory  of 
Carmina's  mother — and  might  find,  in  the 
reply,  some  plausible  reason  for  objecting  to 
her  son's  marriage.  Having  rashly  placed 
himself  in  this  dilemma,  Ovid  unwisely  escaped 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE,  285 

from  it  by  the  easiest  way.  'I  don't  think 
Benjuha  a  fit  person,'  he  said,  '  to  be  in  the 
company  of  a  young  girl.' 

Mrs.  Gallilee  accepted  this  expression  of 
opinion  with  a  readiness,  which  would  have  told 
a  more  suspicious  man  that  he  had  made  a  mis- 
take. Ovid  had  roused  the  curiosity — perhaps 
awakened  the  distrust — of  his  clever  mother. 

'  You  know  best,'  Mrs.  Gallilee  replied  ;  '  I 
will  bear  in  mind  what  you  say.'  She  rang 
the  bell  for  Carmina,  and  left  the  room.  Ovid 
found  the  minutes  passing  slowly,  for  the  first 
time  since  the  day  had  been  fixed  for  his  de- 
parture. He  attributed  this  impression  to  his 
natural  impatience  for  the  appearance  of  his 
cousin — until  the  plain  evidence  of  the  clock 
pointed  to  a  delay  of  five  endless  minutes,  and 
more.  As  he  approached  the  door  to  make 
inquiries,  it  opened  at  last.  Hurrying  to  meet 
Carmina,  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with 
Miss  Minerva ! 


286  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

She  came  in  hastily,  and  held  out  her  hand 
without  looking  at  him. 

'Forgive  me  for  intruding  on  you,'  she 
said,  with  a  rapidity  of  utterance  and  a  timidity 
of  manner  strangely  unhke  herself.  '  I'm 
obhged  to  prepare  the  children's  lessons  for 
to-morrow  ;  and  this  is  my  only  opportunity  of 
bidding  you  good-bye.  You  have  my  best 
wishes — my  heartfelt  wishes — for  your  safety 
and  your  health,  and — and  your  enjoyment  of 
the  journey.     Good-bye  !  good-bye  ! ' 

After  holding  his  hand  for  a  moment,  she 
hastened  back  to  the  door.  There  she  stopped, 
turned  towards  him  again,  and  looked  at  him 
for  the  first  time.  '  I  have  one  thing  more 
to  say,'  she  broke  out.  'I  will  do  all  I  can 
to  make  Carmina's  life  pleasant  in  your 
absence.'  Before  he  could  thank  her,  she  was 
gone. 

In  another  minute  Carmina  came  in,  and 
found   Ovid  looking  perplexed  and  annoyed. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  287 

She  had  passed  Frances  on  the  stairs — had 
there  been  any  mismiderstanding  between 
Ovid  and  the  governess  ? 

'  Have  you  seen  Miss  Minerva  ?  '  she 
asked. 

He  put  his  arm  round  her,  and  seated  her 
by  him  on  the  sofa.  '  I  don't  understand  Miss 
Minerva,'  he  said.  '  How  is  it  that  she  came 
here,  when  I  was  expecting  You  ?  ' 

'  She  asked  me,  as  a  favoiu-,  to  let  her  see 
you  first ;  and  she  seemed  to  be  so  anxious 
about  it  that  I  gave  way.  I  didn't  do  wrong, 
Ovid— did  I?' 

'  My  darhng,  you  are  always  kind,  and 
always  right !  But  why  couldn't  she  say  good- 
bye (with  the  others)  downstairs  ?  Do  you 
understand  this  curious  woman  ? ' 

'  I  think  I  do.'  She  paused,  and  toyed  with 
the  hair  over  Ovid's  forehead.  '  Miss  Minerva 
is  fond  of  you,  poor  thing,'  she  said  inno- 
cently. 


288  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

'Fond  of  me?' 

The  surprise  which  his  tone  expressed,  failed 
to  attract  her  attention.  She  quietly  varied 
the  phrase  that  she  had  just  used. 

'  Miss  Minerva  has  a  true  regard  for  you — 
and  knows  that  you  don't  return  it,'  she  ex- 
plained, still  playing  with  Ovid's  hair.  '  I  want 
to  see  how  it  looks,'  she  went  on,  '  when  it's 
parted  in  the  middle.  No !  it  looks  better  as 
you  always  wear  it.  How  handsome  you  are, 
Ovid !  Don't  you  wish  I  was  beautiful,  too  ? 
Everybody  in  the  house  loves  you  ;  and  every- 
body is  sorry  you  are  going  away.  I  like  Miss 
Minerva,  I  like  everybody,  for  being  so  fond  of 
my  dear,  dear  hero.  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  when 
day  after  day  passes,  and  only  takes  you  farther 
and  farther  away  from  me  ?  No !  I  won't  cry. 
You  shan't  go  away  with  a  heavy  heart,  my  dear 
one,  if  I  can  help  it.  Where  is  your  photograph .? 
You  promised  me  your  photograph.  Let  me 
look  at  it.    Yes  !  it's  like  you,  and  yet  not  hke 


HEART  AND   SCIENCE.  289 

you.  It  will  do  to  think  over,  when  I  am 
alone.  My  love,  it  has  copied  your  eyes,  but 
it  has  not  copied  the  divine  kindness  and  good- 
ness that  I  see  in  them  ! '  She  paused,  and 
laid  her  head  on  his  bosom.  '  I  shall  cry^  in 
spite  of  my  resolution,  if  I  look  at  you  any 
longer.  We  won't  look — we  Avon't  talk — I  can 
feel  your  arm  round  me — I  can  hear  your 
heart.  Silence  is  best.  I  have  b6en  told  of 
people  dying  happily  ;  and  I  never  understood 
it  before.  I  think  I  could  die  happily  now.' 
She  put  her  hand  over  his  lips  before  he  could 
reprove  her,  and  nestled  closer  to  him. 
'  Hush  ! '  she  said  softly  ;  '  hush ! ' 

They  neither  moved  nor  spoke  :  that  silent 
happiness  was  the  beat  happiness,  while  it 
lasted.  Mrs.  Gallilee  broke  the  charm.  She 
suddenly  opened  the  door,  pointed  to  the  clock, 
and  went  away  again. 

The  cruel  time  had  come.  They  made 
their  last  promises  ;  shared  their   last  kisses  ; 

VOL.  I.  u 


290  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

held  each  other  in  the  last  embrace.  She 
threw  herself  on  the  sofa,  as  he  left  her — with 
a  gesture  which  entreated  him  to  go,  while  she 
could  still  control  herself.  Once,  he  looked 
round,  when  he  reached  the  door — and  then  it 
was  over. 

Alone  on  the  landing,  he  dashed  the  tears 
away  from  his  eyes.  Suffering  and  sorrow 
tried  hard  to  get  the  better  of  his  manhood  : 
they  had  shaken,  but  had  not  conquered  him. 
lie  was  calm,  when  he  joined  the  members  of 
the  family,  waiting  in  the  library. 

Perpetually  setting  an  example,  Mrs.  Gal- 
lilee  ascended  her  domestic  pedestal  as  usual. 
She  favoured  her  son  witli  one  more  kiss,  and 
reminded  him  of  the  railway.  '  We  understand 
each  other,  Ovid — you  have  only  five  minutes 
to  spare.  Write,  when  you  get  to  Quebec. 
Now,  Maria  !  say  good-bye.' 

Maria  presented  herself  to  her  brother  with 
a  grace  which  did  honour  to  the  family  danc- 


HEART  AND   SCIENCE.  291 

ing-master.     Her  short  farewell  speech  was  a 
model  of  its  kmd. 

'  Dear  Ovid,  I  am  only  a  child ;  but  I  feel 
truly  anxious  for  the  recovery  of  your  health. 
At  this  favourable  season  you  may  look  forward 
to  a  pleasant  voyage.  Please  accept  my  best 
wishes.'  She  offered  her  cheek  to  be  kissed — 
and  looked  like  a  young  person  who  had  done 
her  duty,  and  knew  it. 

Mr.  Galhlee — modestly  secluded  behind  the 
window  curtains — appeared,  at  a  sign  fi'om  hi 
wife.  One  of  his  plump  red  hands  held  a 
bundle  of  cigars.  The  other  clutched  an 
enormous  new  traveUing-flask — the  giant  of  its 
tribe. 

'  My  dear  boy,  it's  possible  there  may  be 
good  brandy  and  cigars  on  board  ;  but  that's 
not  my  experience  of  steamers — is  it  yours  ?  ' 
He  stopped  to  consult  his  wife.  '  My  dear,  is 
it  yours  ?  '  Mrs.  Gallilee  held  up  the '  Kailway 
Guide,'  and  shook  it  significantly.     Mr.  Gallilee 


292  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

went  on  in  a  hurry.  '  There's  some  of  the 
right  stuff  in  this  flask,  Ovid,  if  you  will  accept 
it.  Five-and-forty  years  old — would  you  like 
to  taste  it?  Would  you  like  to  taste  it,  my 
dear  ? '  Mrs.  Gallilee  seized  the  '  Eailway 
Guide '  again,  with  a  terrible  look.  Her  hus- 
band crammed  the  big  flask  into  one  of  Ovid's 
pockets,  and  the  cigars  into  the  other.  '  You'll 
find  tliem  a  comfort  when  you're  away  from  us. 
God  bless  you,  my  son !  You  don't  mind  my 
calling  you  my  son  ?  I  couldn't  be  fonder  of 
you,  if  I  really  was  your  father.  Let's  part  as 
cheerfully  as  we  can,'  said  poor  Mr.  Gallilee, 
with  the  tears  rolling  undisguisedly  over  his 
fat  cheeks.  '  We  can  Avrite  to  each  other — 
can't  we  ?  Oh  dear !  dear !  I  wish  I  could 
take  it  as  easy  as  Maria  does.  Zo!  come 
and  give  him  a  kiss,  poor  fellow.  Where's 
Zo?' 

Mrs.    Gallilee    made    the    discovery — she 
dracfsed  Zo  into  view,  from  under  the  table. 


HEART  AND  SCIENCE.  2^3 

Ovid  took  his  little  sister  on  his  knee,  and  asked 
why  she  had  hidden  herself. 

'Because  I  don't  want  to  say  good-bye  ! ' 
cried  the  child,  giving  her  reason  with  a  pas- 
sionate outbreak  of  sorrow  that  shook  her  from 
head  to  foot.  '  Take  me  with  you,  Ovid,  take 
me  with  you ! '  He  did  his  best  to  console 
her,  under  adverse  circumstances.  Mrs.  Gal- 
lilee's  warning  voice  sounded  like  a  knell — 
'  Time !  time  !  '  Zo's  shrill  treble  rang  out  louder 
still.  Zo  was  determined  to  write  to  Ovid,  if 
she  was  not  allowed  to  go  with  him.  '  Pa's 
going  to  write  to  you — why  shouldn't  I  ?  '  she 
screamed  through  her  tears.  '  Dear  Zoe,  you 
are  too  young,'  Maria  remarked.  '  Damned 
nonsense  ! '  sobbed  Mr.  Gallilee  ;  '  she  shall 
write  ! '  '  Time,  time ! '  Mrs.  Gallilee  reiterated. 
Taking  no  part  in  the  dispute,  Ovid  directed 
two  envelopes  for  Zo,  and  quieted  her  in  that 
way.  He  hurried  into  the  hall ;  he  glanced 
at   the   stairs   that  led  to  the  drawinf?-room. 


294  HEART  AND  SCIENCE. 

Carmina  was  on  the  lauding,  waiting  for  a 
farewell  look  at  him.  On  the  higher  flight  of 
stairs,  invisible  from  the  hall.  Miss  Minerva 
was  watching  the  scene  of  departure.  Eeckless 
of  railways  and  steamers,  Ovid  ran  up  to 
Carmina.  Another  and  another  kiss ;  and  then 
away  to  the  house-door,  with  Zo  at  his  heels, 
trying  to  get  into  the  cab  with  him.  A  last 
kind  w^ord  to  the  child,  as  they  carried  her 
back  to  the  house  ;  a  last  look  at  the  familiar 
faces  in  the  doorway ;  a  last  effort  to  resist  that 
foretaste  of  death  which  embitters  all  human 
partings — and  Ovid  was  gone ! 


END   OF   THE   FIRST   VOLUME. 


LO><DOX  ;    PHISTED     BY 

BPOTTISWOODB    AND    CO.,    HEIV-STUEET    S^CABa 

AND    fAULIAUEXT     STUEET 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLIN0I9-URBANA 


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